A Black and A Dumbledore
by Lily Carmen Black
Summary: Regulus Black died at eighteen and as he was pulled down by the Inferi to his watery death, he never dreamed that he would be saved. But by chance, luck was finally on his side and whether it was by destiny or some cure trick of fate, Ariana Kendra Dumbledore saved Regulus Arcturus Black that night; in return, and forever more, he, and five Ghosts, chose to keep saving her.
1. Choice

D **isclaimer: Right, well, I don't own anything by J. K. Rowling, but I do own M, N, Eir, Ward, A (who are six very annoying Ghost-like things), Faye Black, and many, many more characters including the Beast Changers who were inspired by the Old English tale, Beowulf, and the Norse Myths surrounding, the Monster, Fenrir and the god-giant hybrid, Loki.**

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 **Warnings:**

 **There is blood, murder and insanity mentioned in this chapter.**

 **Also my Norwegian is a little rusty, I haven't used it in about fourteen years, so if I get some grammar wrong, then again, I apologise. If anyone does spot any mistakes, please tell me and I'll fix it right away.**

 **Plus, Mythology is a bit messed up, so don't scream at me if I get it wrong. There are many different versions.**

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 **Choice**

 **"You have a choice. Live or die. Every breath is a choice. Every minute is a choice. Every time you don't throw yourself down the stairs, that's a choice. Every time you don't crash your car, you re-enlist."**

 **― Chuck Palahniuk, Survivor**

 ** _17th of August 1979_**

 _Truthfully, when later asked what sanity drove him to accomplish such madness, Regulus Arcturus Black blamed his family. Not because they relished in Dark Magic or were somewhat overjoyed when he joined the Death Eaters, but because deep in the roots of their soul, running through their blood and curling around their hearts like thorns, insanity lurked. Pure, underlining lunacy which caused their very existence to slug along and to be sucked into a black hole of mentality until there was nothing left._

 _The curse's origins were unknown, however, since the 9th century, when the Black family were officially classified as 'Purebloods', the curse had lurked. Whether a hag had cursed them in disguise or if it was because of themselves, nobody knew, however, the curse was powerful and as far as Regulus knew, was the reason for the creation of the Three Unforgivable Curses. Each evil, when created, had taken the life of a Black, and whether they be murder or torture, the three very psychotic children who created them, were a force to be reckoned with and who their little sister Carina chose to duel with only in fear of her life. It wasn't until the reign of the Muggle king, William the Conquer in 1066, did the real insanity unfold._

 _The murder of Lord Leopold Black the X had caused a total uproar in the magical community when his sons and daughter, Masters Betelgeuse and Thule and Mistress Amalthea Black came forth and announced that the revolution of the wizarding world had begun, nobody knew what to do. Their younger sister Carina had immediately stepped forward, her wand in tow and after a lengthy argument, the youngest child of Leopold and Malda Black had battled her siblings to the death. The duel had apparently been spectacular. Spells, of eminence darkness and power, had been flung this way and that. Blood had been shed that night, and by the time the battle was over, and Carina faced her elder brother, two of the three Unforgivables had been born. However, it would be Carina's death that set forth the fear of the Black family._

 _Betelgeuse had won the battle, but not without consequences. The curse he had created in a sheer panic — the 'Killing Curse' he called it — had not only ripped his family apart but was now one of the darkest pieces of magic anyone had ever made. Unfortunately, for his children — for Galatea, for Wolf — the two were faced with discrimination and fear, and so, the Black families 'perfect' reputation was tarnished, and the people grew afraid. The Blacks kept to themselves; marrying family; distant relatives until incest and one solid bloodline of absolute crazy was born that by the time Azkaban came along, many scions of the Black family had stained the inside of its walls._

 _Regulus was only ten when he witnessed the madness of the Blacks for the first time. It had happened, one summer's day when the body of his twin was found hanging from their bedroom window in their family home._

 _He's only hurried up to their room to escape from their brother, to hide underneath his bed. But as the son of Orion Black burst through the door, his winded lungs struggling to breathe, he noticed the spindly figure of his Great-Aunt Cassiopeia, pulling a tightly wrapped tasselled curtain tie back around his sister's thin neck. He had stood, stunned, watching in horror as Great-Aunt Cassie pulled and pulled and pulled. His sister's eyes were closed, and she apparently was not breathing, but, by the time his Great-Aunt realised that she had company, she had dropped Regulus' sister to the floor. At first, the young boy could only stare into his sister's frightened face and the horrific length of rope that sat wrapped around her neck. She had only been ten when she died — old enough to know that there was something wrong with the world, but still far too young to do anything about it._

 _But then he'd looked into his Great-Aunt's eyes and flung his tiny body at her, fists flying and accidental magic fluttering out of control. For whatever reason, although Regulus would never know, (but he suspected that she had a mental breakdown), their Great-Aunt Cassie had thrown his sister out of their bedroom window; wrapped a tasselled cord around her neck and left her there to hang. His Great-Aunt, of course, denied it, despite Kreacher's mother's — Rosmy — constant pestering; the Black family wrote it off as another 'incident'; Rosmy's head was soon decapitated and placed on the wall. But Sirius and Regulus would never back down, not ever. Every time they saw their Aunt, they accused her of murder and every time she saw them, she accused them of lying._

 _Looking back, if Regulus could have described Faye Erela Black in one word, he would have described her as free. Free, because she died before chaos turned to war. She was their father's favourite; their mother's torment and her brothers' pride. Faye was free because she never met the prejudice of the outside world; her head was never sorted; her first kiss was never stolen, and in return, her heart remained as pure and bright as the summer's rain._

 _Hunting for Horcruxes had never been on the agenda at aged ten, yet somehow, eight years later, it was at the top of Regulus' list. If Faye had been alive, watching her younger brother with her large grey eyes, she might have joined him, or she may have sat back and watched him die. His sister was a mystery, even to himself and so, as Regulus sat in his room, several feet from where his sister died, a flash of silver light exploded throughout his vision. At first, the Black Heir thought that the Ghost had come to play, after all, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black held a fabulous collection of angry and determined Shades. But they were all hidden and trapped by a serious number of dark enchantments, down in the dark, damp depths of the Blacks cellar._

 _Regulus' eyes narrowed, a small frown etched on his face. If it wasn't a Ghost then what was it? A beautiful woman stood before him; her strawberry blonde, waist-length hair pulled out of her narrow face by a small bow. She was dressed in the strangest clothes Regulus had ever seen, a cross between magical robes and Muggle. A wand lay tucked in the woman's pocket; an envelope placed in the other. Regulus blinked, and when he opened his eyes, the phantom had disappeared, leaving the letter in her wake._

 _'Kreacher!' the heir of Black cried, his lips open in silent awe, throwing himself out of his bed and catapulting to the floor. 'KREACHER!'_

 _The crack of Apparition exploded throughout his room, and a bloodshot eyed house-elf suddenly appeared out of nowhere, his bat-like ears quivering in fear. When the elf's blueish eyes landed on his young master, lying on the floor, his feet tangled in is emerald bed sheets, he let loose an ear-splitting shriek and immediately ran over to help his master, his eyes wide._

 _'Master!' the elf cried, carefully helping Regulus to his feet. 'Is Master feeling—.'_

 _'I'm all right, Kreacher,' Regulus grumbled, pulling at his robes, 'no harm done,'_

 _'Oh what would Mistress say if she found out that Kreacher let his Master fall,' the elf whispered, pulling at his ears. 'What would she do to poor Kreacher,'_

 _Regulus sighed, gently placing a hand on Kreacher's bald head. Ever since the elf had returned from Voldemort's mission, he had unnervingly begun whispering his thoughts allowed and punishing himself more than Regulus would have liked to admit._

 _'You won't tell my mother, none of this was your fault. Now,' Regulus whispered, his eyes narrowed, 'have any Ghosts escaped from the cellar?'_

 _'No Master,' Kreacher cried, pulling at his ears. 'No Ghost has left the basement in over nine hundred years, not since Kreacher's great-great-great grandmother was alive,'_

 _'And my sister?' Regulus asked. The elf stiffened._

 _'Miss Faye had long since moved on from thi—.'_

 _'Don't lie,' snapped Regulus, his eyes flashing. 'I know my sister's down there!'_

 _Kreacher recoiled from Regulus' tone, immediately bowing low and tucking his scraggly hand behind his back._

 _'Kreacher is sorry for offending Master. Kreacher will now go and punish himself,'_

 _The elf turned as if waiting to be allowed to run into the wall._

 _'No,' Regulus commanded, making sure to produce enough power in his voice. 'You will not punish yourself. In fact, you will never, while I live, discipline yourself ever again. Do you understand?'_

 _The elf's head nodded._

 _'Good, now turn around,' said Regulus, 'and read the letter aloud,'_

 _The elf complied. Quickly, Kreacher hurried over to his Master's desk, pulling the thick envelope off the table and bringing it to Regulus, who sat, back against his bed, eyes fixed on the gilded ceiling above. Kreacher cleared his throat; ripped open the letter and in a calm voice, began to read. However, the elf hadn't got past the first line, before Regulus snatched the letter out of his grip. His dark grey eyes peeled over the curled calligraphy and severe warning. The message was only for him, the signal was clear, that by the time Regulus died, the letter lay carved into his eyelids._

 ** _'Dear Regulus,_**

 ** _Don't go hunting for Horcruxes._**

 ** _— M.'_**

 _That was what the message had said — in short, it was warning him not to die. Regulus was still a boy, but a boy with a closed mind. So no matter how many times this 'Ghost' appeared, no matter how many times this 'M' tried to stop him, he would never listen. Not now, — not ever! He had discovered a way to kill a Dark Lord, and although he was maybe young, unqualified and rash, Regulus Arcturus Black was going to do it — he was going to steal a Horcrux._

 _'Regulus,' his mother cried, her shrill voice echoing around the green and silver wallpaper, 'come down here, I have someone who would like to talk to you,'_

 _Regulus sighed, and closed is eyes. For once, he was grateful for his father's death as it would make his far more bearable for his mother._

 _'Coming,' the boy shouted, rising to his feet. But, instead of descending the flight of stairs to the hallway where his mother likely stood, the Black heir wrapped a thick cloak around his body; pulling the hood up and over his aristocratic features, ensuring his face was hidden. Carefully, Regulus slipped a pair of dragon hide boots over his sock covered feet and before his mother could question his lateness; Regulus slipped his locket over his head, where it lay beside his heart._

 _The necklace had originally belonged to his sister — to Faye, and now, the old object would be the success in the biggest theft that anyone would ever hear. The amber-encrusted necklace held dark secrets and had been the downfall of many a scion of Black. Carefully, Regulus opened the locket, making sure not to set off any curses and pressed the note firmly inside. With a snap, Regulus closed the locket and passed Kreacher, his hand gently guiding the elf towards the middle of the room._

 _How many Horcruxes, Lord Voldemort had made, Regulus had no idea, however, even if he destroyed one, the Order had a chance of defeating him. The Lord of Darkness had to fall. This was his choice. And so, as Regulus turned to face the fire, his mind slipping away, he never noticed the figure who lay concealed in the shadow of his bedroom door._

 _The Ghost was young, maybe twenty, with a tangle of strawberry blonde curls. And so as Regulus turned back around to face his room for the last time — an explosion of emerald and silver and a collection of newspaper cuttings about Voldemort — he couldn't help but smile. If any Death Eaters stormed into his room, they'd find substantial evidence that he still believed in he-who-must-not-be-named and would come to the conclusion that he died fighting an Auror, not trying to bring their Master down._

 _The eighteen-year-old never heard the cry; nor the shout, because when M had let loose a scream, the heir of Black had Disapparated, leaving the girl to stare at the place where Regulus had stood._

 _Later that night, Regulus Black died. Nobody knew what he had done, what he had tried to do. It would be another eighteen years before Kreacher finally worked up the courage to tell people his master's story. That a boy, barely into adulthood, had figured out a way to kill a Dark Lord, far greater than Gellert Grindelwald or Herpo the Foul. That night, Regulus Arcturus Black had intended to walk to his death. He had planned it, right down to the last detail. However, there was one thing the Heir of Black failed to do. M had been right; he should never have gone hunting for Horcruxes, however, if he hadn't, he would never have met her._

 _Seventy-six years before Regulus set out to kill Voldemort, a girl of immense power turned eighteen. Like Regulus, she too was supposed to have died, but four years previously and she had planned it. But just like Regulus, she had received a letter. They had begged her to change; begged her to unleash her powers, because if there was one thing that history chose to forget, was that Ariana Kendra Dumbledore was a fighter. A warrior who would turn the lives of Tom Marvolo Riddle and Gellert Grindelwald upside down. A girl who would change the meaning of life and death and turn it inside out, until there was nothing left._

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 **5th of July 1993**

At a time when Muggles thought they knew everything and wizards secretly ruled the land, a lone building sat snug on a rocky island. For nearly five centuries Azkaban had sat deep in the island's foundations, watching the coastlines of Scotland; England; Norway; Denmark; the Frisian Islands; Germany; the Netherlands; Belgium and France. Built in the fifteenth century, Azkaban was originally not a prison, but a home — a fortress — to the insane and evil wizard, Ekrizdis. With a serious collection of concealment charms, Azkaban was the first building, however, not the last, to never appear on a Muggle or wizarding map.

By the time Ekrizdis died, and the charms faded, the Ministry of Magic not only discovered the island but the hundreds of bodies that lay scattered there. Most were the corpses of Muggle Sailors, tempted by the secrets of gold and jewels, but some were the defiled and broken bodies of children and woman — both Muggle and magical. Although the bodies may have saddened the Ministry officials, nothing could have prepared them for the Dementors. Creatures of such depression and power should never exist, yet, there they were, watching everyone and everything with spindly hands and blackened souls.

And so, because of the un-killable Dementors and their thriving colony, the Ministry of Magic took it upon themselves to leave the fortress alone, hoping that it would crumble and decay on its own. However, as the years passed, and stories turned to legend, Azkaban prevailed, forever strung by ancient dark magic it had collected. By the time Damocles Rowle became Minister for Magic in 1718, many magical communities had gone into hiding and hidden among thousands of paperwork, the plans for Azkaban sat. Eventually, after several years of negotiation, Rowle's plans were excepted, and within a week, Azkaban became the most influential and feared prison in the entire world — all because of the Dementors. No one ever suspected that someone would ever escape, the possibilities outweighed the impossible. However, on the 5th of July 1993, one such prisoner did just that.

Sirius Orion Black, murderer; Lord and Death Eater never had a trial. No one ever suspected that the man was innocent, not even his mother who had died thinking that her lost children would never see her again. The only person who knew that Sirius Black was innocent, was technically and legally classed as dead and so, as Sirius stared up at the bars that imprisoned him, he caught sight of a little raven watching him with large, blackened eyes.

The bird was creepy, Sirius admitted. With its unnaturally smooth feathers and sharp gaze, the animagus often wondered if the bird was dead. Unfortunately, it wasn't, and as long as he could remember, the bird had watched him with a look that Sirius would have called hunger — the bird called it pity. For twelve long years, that tiny bird had sat on his windowsill, watching and waiting for him to die.

In the early hours of June the 4th 1993, a letter arrived. The wizard had been sitting in his cell; his head pressed into his hands. How it came through an array of magical defences and layers upon layers of depression and sadness, Sirius had no idea but one-second, his cell was empty and the next, a sharp light exploded around him.

For several crucial seconds, Sirius thought he was staring at his dead friend, after all, it wouldn't be the first time James Potter had appeared in his cell, watching him with a sad gaze. But, as Sirius rubbed at his eyes, his calloused hands scrubbing harshly at his skin, he noticed that the figure was far too tall to be James. For one, the figure was slightly transparent, as if he were a Ghost and his hair was as thick and tangled as the bent branches of a willow tree. Sirius' nostrils flared. Who was this man? What was he doing in Azkaban?

But the man only grinned, and with an unnerving smile and a mild salute, the Ghost dropped a yellowed envelope onto the greasy floor and disappeared, as if the very fabric of time beckoned to his call. Scrambling to his feet, the scion of Black hurried forward, ripping the letter open with his trembling fingers. Whoever had written it, obviously didn't have the skill, nor the knowledge of penmanship because the message was thick; scribbly and written in an almost unreadable text, but still, it would be a message that he would carry with him until the end of his days.

 ** _'To Sirius,_**

 ** _I hope you like to swim._**

 ** _— N,'_**

Sirius frowned, his lips thinning as he placed the note into the pocket of his moth-eaten robes. If this was some form of a practical joke, it wasn't funny. A cold breeze echoed through the prison, chilling the prisoners' bones as the overwhelming desire to hang himself exploded through Sirius' mind. Sirius pulled his threadbare robes further around his shoulders as the three meters tall; humanoid shape approached his cell. The Dementor looked around; it's hooded head nodding in his direction, and Sirius' eyes widened as the creature of Azkaban flew towards him. The Prisoner scrambled backwards, his eyes wide. Swimming wasn't a happy thought! Swimming wasn't a happy thought... But escaping was!

Breathing slowly, the scion of Black looked up into the empty, scabbed covered eye sockets and a gaping hole which was supposedly a mouth. His head rolled back, and he was just about to let loose a horrific scream when an explosion of silver light erupted through his cell. The Dementor shrieked a horrible twisted scream and with something Sirius could only describe as fear, turned and flew away as fast as it could. Breathing slowly, the son of Orion Black pressed a hand to his forehead, peeking through his fingers. There, watching him with flickering ears and a pointed beak, a snowy owl sat. Sirius blinked… Who the fuck had saved him?

'Black,' a voice hissed, and Sirius turned away as the patronus flickered away, and his eyes widened as he took in the spindly, shadowy figure of a woman. She stood before him, her hands in pockets, and although she was small, her body looked slightly stretched, as if a lengthening charm pulled at her body. Her eyes were dark as if unnaturally sewn together in pearls of earth and her hair, was long and as black as his own.

'Who are you?' Sirius snarled, his lips pursed. The woman smiled, her long fingers twisting a silver wedding ring around and around her ring finger.

'Isn't that the question of the century?' the woman smiled, her lips pursed. But for some strange reason, Sirius thought that her laughter, her joy was fake, hidden behind a layer of madness and decay.

Carefully, the woman approached the cell, her black hair collapsing over her nimble shoulders and long blue robes — and then, almost as if she were a different person, the woman frowned. Quickly, she reached forward, her arms outstretched and snatched Sirius by his robes, pressing her stretched face close to the cell.

'Now,' she hissed, her tongue trailing over her lips, 'we have exactly twenty seconds before Cornelius Fudge rounds the corner. You will listen to me, or we'll both be sitting in this fucking hell hole for all eternity!'

'Why should I do as you say?' asked Sirius, licking his lips as his grey, haunted eyes stared up into the woman's equal and cruel gaze.

'Because right now,' she hissed, 'I'm the only one who will get you out.'

For several, long, heartbreaking seconds the two stared at each other, and then with a wicked smile, the woman pulled away, melting into the shadows like a shadowing charm. Cautiously, Sirius turned to face the raven, who had flown away the second the woman had appeared as if he was afraid.

It was the sound of hollow footsteps that caused Sirius to back away from the prison door, his eyes wide — and just as he managed to throw himself onto his ragged mattress, the Minister for Magic turned around the corner. Although the man before him was four years younger than he, Fudge was still the portly little man who's rumpled hair clung to his fleshy face. A green bowler hat sat on his head, covering his grey hair and beady eyes that if Sirius hadn't known the wizard, he would have thought that the man standing in a green pinstriped cloak wasn't the Minister for Magic.

'Hello,' Sirius whispered, his dark eyes peering through a layer of tangled hair, a bored expression playing on his cold face. Fudge bristled as if unsure what to make of the supposed murderer, and with pursed lips, he turned to face the Auror who stood beside him.

The woman was tall, with a strange mane of bright pink hair that adorned her heart shaped face, and although her dark eyes watched Sirius with a sour look, the man of thirty-three couldn't but help but feel he'd seen her before. Her robes hung off her narrow frame in a strange manner, reminding the Prisoner all too well of his cousin Andromeda. A wand lay hidden in the folds of her cloak, clutched in her pale hand, waiting for Sirius to lunge forwards and attack the Minister. But the Prisoner stayed on his bed, and the wand lay strapped in her hand.

'He is safe? Isn't he?' Fudge asked. When the Auror didn't answer, her dark eyes staring at Sirius with pity and horror, the Minister's face grew a dark purple.

'AUROR TONKS!' he roared, pulling the woman out of her dazed expression. 'IS HE SAFE!'

'Of course not,' Auror Tonks hissed, her lips curled. 'He murdered thirteen people with one fucking curse!'

However, Sirius was lost for words, not because the woman in front of him was an Auror, but because the last time he had seen Nymphadora Tonks, she had been a little girl, running around her mother's heels, forever crashing into things like the little spitfire she was. But now, years later, the daughter of Andromeda and Edward Tonks stood before him, her arms crossed across her narrow waist and broad hips, her hair slowly changing to that of a blazing red.

'Excuse me,' Sirius whispered, looking between the two with a mild expression, 'but I was wondering if you had finished with your newspaper, I do miss doing crosswords,'

The question was so normal, so boring that it took the two by surprise. The Minister for Magic turned, his eyes wide as Sirius pointed to the newspaper that sat tucked under his arm. Cautiously, the Minister nodded, and with a shove to Tonks, the Auror slipped the paper out from under Fudge's arm and pushed it through the bars.

'Thank you,' Sirius said. With a small grin, the son of Lord Black rose to his feet, his dirty boots sliding over the ground like sharpened blades that as he picked the paper off the floor, he saw Tonk pressing her wand ever so slightly in front of him. But Sirius ignored his cousin, forgetting all about the Minister when his dark, tortured eyes fixed on the front cover. There, under a large title, (MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE), was the large flickering image of the Weasley family.

Sirius recognised the family almost instantly, not because of Arthur's balding head, nor Molly's kind face, but because there, standing behind a lanky boy, stood two identical teens. Sirius' heart tugged as two men suddenly flashed through his mind as the bodies of Gideon and Fabian Prewett shot through him like an electric current. Fred and George Weasley, (or at least that was what the photograph named them), although probably different to their late uncles in mind and manner, looked almost eerily like the spitting image of the Prewett twins.

It was, as Sirius' eyes trickled back over the lean boy, did he finally notice the rat who sat on his shoulders. His back tensed; his nose flared, and his hair exploded around his gaunt face, that if it weren't for the ripples of magic that hung in his cell, an explosion of accidental magic would have erupted from his exhausted body. He snarled, sounding like a furious dog — and then, with closed eyes, he took a shuddering breath.

'Thank you, Minster,' he whispered, tucking the paper into his robes, as he turned to look up at the disturbed man, a large, unnatural grin placed rather madly on his thin lips. 'Thank you very much indeed,'

Before Fudge could open his mouth, Tonks had grabbed his robes, pulling him down the hall as Bellatrix Lestrange let loose a maddened laugh and rattled her chains. The smile dropped from Sirius' lips as the two disappeared through a door and hurried down a flight of stairs. Quickly, the Prisoner of Azkaban turned to look at the shadow where the woman had hidden, and as if the ground was tissue paper, the strange woman stepped out of the darkness, a small smirk on her pale lips.

'Well,' she whispered over Bellatrix's mad cackles, 'that was interesting,'

Sirius frowned, his eyes narrowed. Did she, this strange woman, know anything about Pettigrew?

'Well, I'd love to spend the remainder of my life outside this dingy little cell, but right now, I'd like to leave,' the woman said, clasping her hands together, her eyebrows raised. 'What do you think, Lord Black, do you wish to leave too?'

The Heir of Black stared at her, his lips wide. What if it was a trap? What if she was here to kill him? What if — so many 'what if's' whispered around his mind, pulling at his thoughts that Sirius didn't know what to think. However, as he studied the woman's cold face and cradled hands, she looked almost pretty, beautiful even. But there was something odd in her dark eyes. The way she looked at him, her mind battling between familiarity and lust, he saw more a mysterious, much less trustworthy woman.

With crippling courage and a numb mind, Sirius licked his lips and asked,

'Before we go I'd like to know your name?'

The woman grinned as if it was the first time someone ever bothered to ask. She pressed her hand to her waist in a comfortable fashion, revealing a thin ruby red stone. The necklace, although small and pointed like a knife reflected her face and sapphire robes like crystal bouncing off metal.

'My name,' she whispered, grinning creepily, 'is Mer,'

* * *

 ** _17th of December 1981_**

 _Snow danced merrily around Mavis' head, catching delicately in her dark hair as a steady, but very slow ferry swam across the darkened sea. As the bow dipped up and over a calming wave, Mavis could just see, through the thick fog, a small island where her fiancé lurked. Svalbard, (or as it was once known Spitsbergen), was a rather strange place to live. Hidden off the Norwegian coast, nearly four hundred and seventy-one miles from Nordkapp, the icy island stood. Inhabited by polar bears; reindeer; several species of birds and of course humans, the tiny island, was usually forgotten, but now, as Mavis clutched the metal rails that surrounded the ship's deck, the soaring mountains and ice capped cliffs took her breath away._

 _Although Mavis may have been twenty-three, her dark hair held streaks of grey; her long legs, although muscular and wrapped tightly in a pair of red corduroy trousers, were littered with scars and there, peeking from under a faded yellow and black scarf, a horrific bite mark streaked across her neck. For the werewolf, it was the first time she had ever sailed on a boat, and although she had been born in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, the young woman had never stepped outside her cave, let alone travelled abroad._

 _Her mother was only fourteen when she died and gave birth to Mavis, one December morning back in 1958. Jenny Davids had apparently been a kind girl, with a bright personality and an incredible mind, or at least, that was what Jenny's missing papers had told her daughter. Jenny was only ten when she was kidnapped by Fenrir Greyback and his pack, that when her Muggle's parents had tried to uncover their daughter's kidnapping, she had been raped and now held Mavis' elder brother, Matthew, in her arms. Although Matthew was the product of a werewolf and a Muggle, he showed no magical tendencies._

 _That didn't mean, one summer's moon; thirteen wolves attacked the two siblings. The maddened werewolves ripped them to shreds; pulling at their flesh and destroying their minds. Ten-year-old, Matthew had died that night, and if it weren't for Mavis' suddenly explosion of accidental magic, she too would most likely be dead. It had been Fenrir's Beta, Woodrow Nickles who had somewhat taken her under his wing and taught her everything she knew. Over the seventeen years Mavis was shaped; moulded and tugged into a monster that followed a Dark Lord's commands. It wasn't until she met Remus John Lupin did the adopted daughter of Woodrow Nickles begin to have seconds thoughts. The young man of twenty was an awful spy, or at least that was what Mavis thought when he suddenly turned up, his green eyes watching everyone with curious, petrified eyes._

 _The new werewolf was rather strange, Mavis had thought, as she stepped forward when Greyback had called her name. For one, his clothes were pressed and clean and were by far more comfortable than her ragged collection of animal skins sewn loosely together to make a rough and very grubby set of robes. Lupin was tall, settling just above her lanky form of five foot eleven by several inches; his dark hair, like her's, was speckled grey and his eyes, although a light green, did a little more to unnerve her._

 _'Yes?' Mavis had asked, her electric blue eyes nervously watching the person who stood before her. But Greyback had neither answered nor indicated to his Beta's adopted daughter and instead he'd turned, running his hands along his mate's back._

 _Mavis had shivered; grabbed Lupin's arm with a claw-like hand and dragged him over to her small tent. As soon as his green eyes settled on the rotting animal meat and bloody clothes, the wizard's face had paled, and he had to sit down. Mavis had snorted, called him a rather rude word and ripped a piece of deer meat from the animal's belly. Lupin's face paled as the young woman had sunk her teeth into the flesh, all the while grinning as she watched him with a sadistic gaze. Mavis had kicked a small bowl in front of him; licked her fingers and then proceeded to comb her tangled hair with her blood stained fingers. She had grinned when Lupin had to get up to vomit._

 _For the next week, Mavis taught Lupin the ways of a 'real' werewolf. When he'd asked if she had a wand, Mavis had looked at him like he was mad before explaining to him, that because she was a girl, Greyback expected her to 'comfort' the other wolves. Lupin's face had paled once more and after several seconds had asked how she felt about being used for sex._

 _'I don't know,' Mavis had shrugged, pulling her robes further around her shoulders, 'it's all I've known. If I were human — like my mother — I'd be dead the second I gave birth to cubs,'_

 _'Have you?' Lupin asked, eyes wide. 'Had children I mean?'_

 _Mavis nodded, her lips pursed._

 _'Greyback killed them of course,' she whispered, her voice cracking. 'Says that "only he, the "Alpha" can have cubs," no one else,'_

 _'How did you live?' Lupin had asked. Mavis' eyes had watered slightly, and she had quickly wiped them away._

 _'I survived,' she hissed, pressing her hair close to her lips. Lupin stayed for six months, and Greyback was just beginning to loosen up to him when a group of armed wizards had exploded through the camp._

 _Mavis had been sitting in her tent; her legs drawn up her chest, when one of the scouts, Oscar, had burst into her tent and told her to grab a weapon. The only weapon she owned was an old hunting knife, and so, the werewolf had burst out of the tent, the Upsilon following closely behind her. But the woman only got three feet before a tangle of blond hair suddenly pushed her to the floor, as a gigantic wolf, far bigger than her werewolf form, glared at her, its bright blue eyes watching her with disdain._

 _The werewolf had growled, bringing her arms up to grip the wolf's snout and with a tremendous effort, she kicked. If any average human had tried to push a wolf the size of a bus, off their body, they would have most likely ended up with a pair of jaws ripping their throat out. However, a werewolf was far stronger than humans. Lupin had skidded to a halt as a large wolf suddenly whipped in his direction, as the wolf's body changed, lengthening into a muscular man with broad shoulders and a long, long beard. Mavis' eyes widened to the size of a large bowl, and with a curse, she turned and ran. But once again, the werewolf only made it three feet before the Beast Changer pounced on her, pinning her to the ground as the wolf transformed into the hauntingly handsome human that was Åsmund Eriksen, the Chieftain of the Spitsbergen Beast Changers._

 _As several Aurors tied her fellow werewolves up, waiting for Hit Wizards to take them to Azkaban, Mavis hung in the Beast Changer's arms, her head downcast. Only when Lupin stepped forward, explaining her kindness towards him, did the Order of the Phoenix realise that maybe, just maybe they had acted a little too harshly. Along with two other female werewolves and several children, Mavis was set free, however, unlike her fellow pack members, the werewolf was taken to the Order's secret hideout._

 _She met Albus Dumbledore that night. The werewolf had sat, in what Lupin had called a 'chair' whatever that was and clutched a cup of 'tea'. Mavis sniffed the strange concoction and recoiled her stomach churning. Surprisingly, the greatest wizard who ever lived did not live up to the sickly profile Fenrir had portrayed. Albus Dumbledore stood proud and tall; his white hair streaked with traces of red, and his twinkling blue eyes watched her behind a pair of moon-shaped glasses._

 _He'd offered her a 'Sherbet Lemon' and Mavis had reluctantly taken one, running the strange object in her hand before placing the yellow thing in her mouth. Her eyes widened as an explosion of fuzzy goodness exploded, causing the young woman of twenty, (almost twenty-one), to stare up at the old man in utter shock. A man with curly black hair, who supposedly went by the name of Sirius Black, had laughed at her expression but was immediately silenced by a dark haired woman who had introduced herself as Dorcas Meadowes._

 _'What?' Mavis whispered, touching her lips as the bubbly feeling melted into a strange citric taste. 'What was that?'_

 _'That was a sweet,' Dumbledore had explained, his blue eyes searching her scarred face. 'Surely you've had one before?'_

 _Mavis had shaken her head, her lips pursed._

 _'Greyback never let any of us touch any food until he and the others got their fair share,'_

 _She had said this as if it were the most normal thing in the world and Dumbledore fixed her with a saddened expression as he noticed her undernourished form._

 _'When you turned, how old were you?' he asked as he handed Mavis another sweet._

 _'Six,'_

 _Dumbledore shared a look with Lupin who's face had paled._

 _'Remus has told me that you've had several children,' Dumbledore continued, pressing his hand on her bony shoulder. 'Could you please tell me where they are so I can reunite you?'_

 _Mavis had glanced up into Dumbledore's blue eyes, and then without wanting her body began to shake as big, uncontrollable tears ran down her pointed face like a waterfall. Thankfully Dumbledore had asked no more questions and turned to look at the Beast Changer, his face drawn in a tight line. It was then decided, through a series of secret glances, that Åsmund would take care of her, not because he wanted to, but because out of everyone in the room, he knew what it was like to lose an entire family, including children._

 _Truthfully, in his human form, Mavis found Åsmund Eriksen, (or as he was known to humans Åsmund Wolff), rather attractive. With his long blond hair and tattooed arms, the descended of Beowulf certainly lived up to his ancestor's name, as he was the first one in generations to look like the Geat King. To Greyback, Beast Changers were one of his worst enemies as he saw them as unnatural. To Mavis, they fascinated her. She'd always found the werewolf's distant cousins to be strange, but unusual creatures who were the very essence of a wolf. Unlike the werewolf who only revealed their inner monster every full moon, a Beast Changer could transform into a wolf whenever he or she desired._

 _Åsmund was a quiet man, with an open mind and a collection of icy glares clutched in his grasp. When he, (along with everyone else), had discovered that Mavis was a witch, but didn't have a wand, the Beast Changer had taken her hand and Apparated to Ollivander's. Mavis, like many witches and wizards several years her joiner, was immediately unnerved by the spindly man with a white mane of wiry hair._

 _'Ah,' the man had cried when Mavis, (now dressed in respectable purple robes), and Åsmund had entered the shop. 'I was wondering when I'd get another werewolf in my shop.'_

 _Mavis had stiffened, her eyes watching the man with curious eyes. But instead of snapping at her and demanding that she get out of his shop, the old wandmaker smiled at her, before turning to face Åsmund._

 _'Well, I never,' he gasped, his smile somehow growing impossibly wider, 'Åsmund Eriksen, last time I saw you I was merely a boy!'_

 _'Yes,' Åsmund whispered, 'last I saw you Mr Ollivander you must have been…four?'_

 _'Three,' Ollivander corrected. 'You were here for your ninth wand if I remember correctly. Your daughter and wife were with you. How are Áshildr and Dagrún? Oh, and I can't forget little Flóki? How is the lad now? He'd nearly be seventy now.'_

 _Åsmund's face paled, and he glanced at his hands, as if ashamed of their deaths. Mavis nervously stared at the floor; she knew Beast Changers could live for thousands of years, but if that was true, then Åsmund could nearly be a hundred, possibly even older._

 _'They're dead,' Åsmund said, looking up, tears glistening across his tanned face._

 _'Ah,' Ollivander had whispered and stepped forward, his wand in tow. Several minutes later, which was full of exploding curtains and missing eyebrows, Mavis walked out of Ollivander's, a twelve inch, aspen, phoenix core wand clutched in her hand._

 _With this wand, Mavis had learnt in six months, under the guidance of Åsmund, how to duel with her eyes shut. She'd been tutored seven years of Wizarding and Muggle schooling by a stern woman with black hair, (who Mavis soon learnt was a woman named Minerva McGonagall), in only two years._

 _As the years progressed, and the young lady and the Beast Changer fell in love, Mavis eventually began to warm to humans, befriending Lily and James Potter until, one heartbreaking day on the 31st of October 1981, they died. It was at this time when Mavis left her home. Suddenly her entire world had fallen apart. Her two friends were dead; Remus wouldn't talk to her; Sirius was in Azkaban; Petunia Dursley gained custody of her nephew; her banished fiancé left Britain, and she was once again an outcast. The life of a werewolf was a cruel and harsh one, and so, as the wizarding boat pulled into the secret port at Longyearbyen, Mavis' heart stopped. What if Åsmund didn't love her anymore, it had been two months since she had last seen him._

 _A loud squawking sound echoed loudly around the deck, indicating that someone had just let loose a baby dragon — or maybe a dying cow. With a deep breath, Mavis snatched up her battered suitcase; tugged at her grandmother's old Hufflepuff scarf and hurried down the ship's steps, her booted feet clanging against the metal floor. A cold, wind blasted the young woman's hair out of her diamond-shaped face, revealing her sharp cheekbones and scarred face as the daughter of Jenny Davids stepped off the creaky boat and onto the snow covered the land of Svalbard._

 _Chaos rained around her that at first, Mavis didn't know where to look. Wizards, witches and some magical creatures clouded her vision, bringing forth a new sense of the word 'mad' to the woman. The delicious smell of hot chocolate exploded through her nostrils, causing her mouth to water. A loud shout of rapid Norwegian echoed loudly around the square, as a young boy who stood beside her, holding a large newspaper yelled around the plaza. Judging by his worried face and photograph of Sirius Black, Mavis guessed that Norway had finally caught up with Sirius' incarceration._

 _As the werewolf allowed a wizard dressed in woollen robes to step past her, his head covered by a pointed reindeer hat, a pair of strong, tattooed arms wrapped around her spindly form. The adopted daughter of Woodrow Nickles smiled, her eyes narrowing in surprise. Before Åsmund could even say, 'Hello' Mavis had turned, standing on her tiptoes as she pulled her fiancé into a great kiss. The Beast Changer froze, as if unsure what to do, and then he pressed his large hands to Mavis' face, cradling her as if she were the last creature in existence. When the two finally pulled away, their breath curdling in the freezing air, Åsmund placed an arm around his fiancée's shoulders._

 _'Come,' he said, indicating to an old lady with white hair and caucasian skin. 'Meet my_ ** _Mor_** _,'_

 _With a mixture between with what Mavis could only describe as a blush and a grin, the daughter of Jenny Davids took Åsmund Eriksen's hand as the two walked in the direction of his mother, Anna Álisdatter._

 _'Do you have a sister by the name of Eir?' Mavis asked as they approached the old woman. Åsmund frowned, his blue eyes narrowed._

 _'No, my sister's name is Jannicke,' he said, stopping. 'Why do you ask?'_

 _Cautiously, Mavis dipped her hand into her jacket, pulling out a wrinkled piece of parchment. There, written in old Norse, scribbled in a rather complicated hand, were the word:_

 ** _'Good luck and have fun in Svalbard!_**

 ** _Love from,_**

 ** _Eir.'_**

 _'Unless the Goddess of Healing has managed to contact you,' Åsmund stated, taking the note and slipping it into his pocket. 'I'd say someone was playing a joke on you,'_

 _Mavis shrugged, her eyes wide._

 _'It was strange,' she admitted, 'it just appeared when I awoke this morning,'_

 _Åsmund grinned, pressing his lips to Mavis' temple._

 _'Well, then, if it was the Goddess of Healing,' he said, 'then only good can come from it. Now, Mavis, we'd better hurry up because the others are waiting,'_

 _'Others?' Mavis asked. Åsmund grinned._

 _'Our family,' he said as the two reached his mother, who pulled her to be daughter-in-law into a bone crushing hug. And so, began the long and complicated life of a Beast Changer and a werewolf._

 _For the next thirteen years, the two would live in perfect harmony, and it would only be when Albus Dumbledore appeared on their doorstep, an old friend in tow, would the secret and dark mysteries of Mavis were revealed to not only her husband but to the entire the wizarding community._

* * *

 **31st of August 1993**

Although Regulus was technically and legally dead, the son of Orion Black was still very much alive. Fourteen years had passed since his horrific encounter with the inferi, and although the scars healed, turning into silvery spider-like threads across his body, the young man had been dead for nine minutes. As the Heir of Black turned sharply around a corner and into Knockturn Alley, he couldn't help but feel nervous. Mer, although mostly mad, had taken an unusual liking to visiting Borgin and Burkes, as if she was searching for something. However, as the crazy woman had stumbled into the shop, her eyes wide, she had spotted something rather…odd.

Once, Regulus' father had patrolled these streets, walking stick in hand and collected the debts of many a witch or wizard who owned a shop, racking up his tenant's charges until their ears fell out. Back then, the street had been mildly pleasant, with brightly coloured shops selling dark things and unusual objects, but now, many years later, the cobbled street had fallen into disrepair and forgotten magic. Hags; homeless people and dark creatures roamed the shopping district, watching anyone with beady eyes and lost voices. Some begged. Others stole.

Borgin and Burkes, although not the most interesting antique shop, was one of the darkest. With its dark green painted walls and dimly lit windows, it was not a place Regulus' father would have approved of when he was a small boy, but now, with his scarred hands and forgotten life, the son of Orion, could just about blend into the background without anyone noticing.

As Regulus stepped through the doorframe, closing the rusted door with the heel of his dragon hide boots, he saw Mer standing in front of a small counter, pressing her hands to the table as she talked in a hushed tone to the wizard who stood before her. The shop was still as dingy and dusty when the ex-Death Eater had stepped through its hallowed halls all those years ago. From the rotting Hand of Glory that sat on a plump cushion to leering Death Eater masks that hung on the wall, number 13B Knockturn Alley had it all.

Mr Borgin stooped over Mer, his oily hair dripping onto the desk below as he stared down at her with a pair of unusual eyes, taking in her spindly form and the blood red shard that hung around her neck, as a stream of orange-golden light glittered playfully against Mer's violet robes.

'Are you sure you don't have it anymore?' she asked, her eyes wide as she leant forward. 'It's just that necklace belonged to my Great-Aunt, and it's vital that I—.'

'Last time I saw that locket,' Mr Borgin hissed, pushing his round glasses up the bridge of his crooked nose. 'It was bought by Madame Smith. But I have no idea where that sad thing went after that! Now, as you can see, I am rather busy, so if you're not going to buy anything get out!'

With a hiss, Mer turned, her long hair thumping Mr Borgin in the face. The wizard winced as if appalled that a woman had dared to attack him, and he reached out, snatching her hair in his gnarled grip. Mer's eyes widened, reminding Regulus of several massive galleons, as she shot backwards, her hands reaching behind to steady herself. Borgin was about to hiss something in Mer's ear and probably thump her for her insolence when the son of Orion Black coughed. Mr Borgin looked up, his eyes wide and with a small grunt, he released Mer.

'Mr Noir,' he hissed, bowing low, 'your sister was just telling me—.'

'I heard what she said,' Regulus hissed, stepping over a fallen chair that had a pair of beady eyes and a snatching charm embedded into the wood. The young man approached the shopkeeper, his eyes narrowed. 'And if you ever touch her again, I'll make sure that a blinding green light is the last thing you ever see,'

Borgin gulped, his eyes wide, face pale. With a nod of his head, the elderly man took in Regulus' lanky form and the glittering scars that sliced through his cheeks. Although the threat may have seemed empty, the shopkeeper, unfortunately, knew who hid behind a layer of black hair and charmed blue eyes.

'So, now that we've cleared that up,' Regulus said leaning on the table beside Mer. 'Morgause has told me that you have a set of Preserving Boxes hidden away in your care.'

Borgin nodded, pulling his oily white hair out of his face. For a split second, his dark eyes lingered on the black stone signet ring that resided on Regulus' index finger and once again Borgin's face paled.

'Yes m'Lord,' the man hissed, indicating to a long curtain that fluttered rather dangerously behind him, 'they're through here,'

With a flutter of his robe and a shaky step, Regulus found himself standing in the back room of Borgin and Burkes. Unlike the front of the shop, the back was rather strange, with larger, far more dangerous objects piled around him. In the corner, standing next to a proud window that peered out into the back alleys of Knockturn Alley, a triangular Vanishing Cabinet sat. Beside it, hidden under a long cloak, Regulus could just see the decaying hand of a dead man. However, it was neither the Vanishing Cabinet, nor the missing body of Alexander Leigh that frightened him, but rather it was the two, elongated coffins that sat in front of him.

Far more dangerous than the Killing Curse, yet just as lethal, the art of creating Preserving Boxes were long since banned, however, if one knew the right carpenter anyone could buy one. Unfortunately, although the boxes managed to preserve someone for any length of time, the sleeper may sometimes never wake up. Created by the Dark Witch and Queen of Avalon, Morgan or Morgana Le Fay, the original design was supposed to trap and incarnate her most deadly enemy — Merlin.

Although the box dripped with dark magic, Merlin had somehow managed to swap the magic around, allowing the box only to cause its capture into a deep, dreamless sleep. When Morgan had pushed Merlin, back first into her coffin, she had been mildly surprised to find her mortal enemy not choking on his breath. With a furious roar, the Queen of Avalon had tried and failed to open the coffin which contained the Prince of Enchanters. With an angry sigh, the witch had turned away, never expecting Merlin to appear, nine years later, his face as youthful and bright as the day he had first met her.

'So,' Mer whispered, running her finger down the length of the gold encrusted wood, 'how old are they?'

Borgin grunted as if offended that she did not know.

'I found them,' he said, pressing his steepled fingers to his lips, 'inside the castle of King Arthur, containing the two bodies of Merlin and his wife, Nimue,'

Regulus' eyes widened, and he turned in surprise.

'You mean to tell me that, — that these are the two caskets in which Merlin and his wife slept?'

Borgin's head bobbed.

'The very same,' he said, smiling sickly.

'Are they for sale?' asked Mer, her voice breathless. Borgin sighed, his eyes closed.

'No,' he snapped, pulling out a small note and inspecting its contents, 'it was already bought by a Mrs and Mr Lupus, for nine thousand galleons… Although, they did say that they would not be able to procure the two items until May the third, nineteen-nintey eight,'

'Why?' Regulus asked. Borgin frowned.

'I don't know. Now! As I've told your sister if you're not buying anything,' he raised his hand, and his eyes bulged. 'THEN GET OUT!'

With a sharp snap of his crooked wand, the door opened, and Borgin pushed the two out onto Knockturn Alley, slamming the door behind Mer and Regulus with a loud bang.

'Well,' Mer gasped, 'that man was just, — he was, — that was just plain rude!'

'Oh well,' said Regulus, smiling, 'I bet we can cheer ourselves up by going to the Three Broomsticks. What do you think, Mer? I pint of Firewisky on me?'

With a broad smile, Mer excepted Regulus' outstretched hand and stepped out of the dark and mysterious alleyway and into the bustling street of Diagon Alley. But the two had only stepped out of Knockturn Alley when a gangly boy with a flood of red hair bumped head first into Mer. The nineteen-year-old woman stumbled, her eyes were wide with fear, but before she could topple to the ground and make an utter fool of herself, Regulus snatched her hand, pulling her back to his side.

'Oh, Morgause!' Regulus cried, his eyes wide in feigned surprise. 'How are you, dear sister?'

'I'm fine Rigel,' Mer breathed, her hand pressing against her heart as she looked at the boy with red hair, who now stood before her, his face red with embarrassment. Carefully, Mer fixed a dark eye on the boy, her eyebrows raised in a questioning look. 'But I'm more worried about this young man. How are you? I didn't hurt you did I?'

The boy blushed, his face turning the same colour as his fiery red hair and freckled skin, his ears also turning a beautiful red shade. He had blue eyes and a long nose that peered up into Mer's dark eyes, watching her with a look of curiosity and wonder.

'No,' he said, eying Mer, 'I'm all right,'

'Good, good,' said Mer, smiling widely. Her dark eyes lingered over their children, taking in the girl's explosion of dark hair and the untidy jet-black hair of a boy with startlingly green, almond-shaped eyes. For a split second, Mer's eyes flickered up to his forehead to where a lightning bolt scar lay, but then, just as quickly, she looked away from Harry Potter, turning her attention to the girl.

She was small with a mane of bushy brown hair, and a pair dark eyes stared back. Her clothes were a mixture of Muggle and magical, but it wasn't her clothes nor her hair that had caught Mer's eye. There sitting with a fed expression on its squashed face, a cat sat in the girl's arms — a huge, very ginger-coloured cat with a bottle brush tail and a pair of yellow eyes.

'Ohh!' Mer cried, reaching forward and stroking the cat's head. 'You got a cat! How wonderful! Wasn't I just saying Rig, how that poor thing had been locked up in Magical Menagerie for far too long!'

'You know him?' the girl asked.

'Her,' Mer corrected, 'and yes, we do. Our old friend, Ari, had her, but she, unfortunately, couldn't look after her anymore — something to do with too many galleons spent on one cat but who am I to say?'

She kneaded the cat's head grinning wickedly.

'Isn't that right Crookshanks,' she cooed. 'Isn't that right?'

The cat hissed, swiping Mer's hand with its paw, but the woman just laughed, pulling her hand away, sucking the blood.

'Yup,' said Regulus, grinning, 'she's still a little spitfire,'

The cat turned and raised its furry eyebrows raised. Regulus snorted.

'We better go,' Regulus said, pretending to look at his pocket watch. 'Come on sister; I did offer you that drink didn't I?'

With a smirk, Mer rubbed the cat's head one last time and turned, clutching Regulus' arm as the two walked down the street. When Regulus was sure the three children could no longer hear them, he pressed his mouth close to Mer's ear.

'That was a terrible act you played,' he hissed. 'You didn't care about the boy at all. Did you?'

Mer grinned a wicked smile.

'Well,' she said, shrugging her shoulders, 'what did you want me to act like, a spoilt brat?'

Regulus chuckled.

'Merlin no!' he cried tugging at his hair as the two turned and hurried down a quiet street. 'But I think Ari is not very happy with you,'

Mer rolled her eyes.

'She's always been touchy!' Mer snapped, relieving her grip around Regulus' arm. 'Always has been. I have no idea how you managed to work up the courage to marry her?'

'Well, I suspect it as something to do with the fact that you have pretty firm grip,'

Mer grinned as Regulus winced and rubbed his hand.

'You know,' she said. 'You still owe me a drink,'

With a groan, Regulus rolled his eyes; carefully looked back, making sure that no one was following them and with a snap the two Disapparated.

A second later, a young man suddenly appeared; his dark green robes billowing wildly as his red-brown hair fell carelessly over a pair of twisted eyes. He looked around as if searching for something. When it became apparent that Mer and Regulus had gone, the boy cursed and pressed a letter into his pocket. A triangle ring sparkled, and with a flash of purple light, he disappeared back into the dirty world of whence he came, ready to tell his friends, that his mission had failed.

* * *

 **Norwegian Translations:**

 **Mor - Mother**

* * *

 **Dear Readers,**

 **First of, no I'm not dead, neither have I stopped writing. My delayed upload is thanks to a terrible internet connection and a whole lot of homework. I am in my second last year of schooling and as suspected, Higher, (my second last year of Schooling) is as stressful and complicated as a wasp's nest, trust me, I've had one of those things dangling from my parent's office window before! I will be unable, (partly because of the bad internet and with the mountain load of work), to upload as frequently as I used to, but don't worry, I am still writing and continue to write new stories and try to upload.**

 **Secondly, life got in the way. It happens to the best of us, but between going home to Norway and returning back to school, my life has been a jumble of chaotic madness. I am also writing my own book, which is thankfully in the final rewrite!**

 **Thirdly, I had the shameful writer's block! Ahhhhh! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the revised chapter and didn't forget to ask me questions, live, favourite and review!**

 **From,**

 **Lily.**


	2. Blood

**Disclaimer: Right, well, I don't own anything by J. K. Rowling, but I do own M, N, Eir, Ward, A (who are six very annoying Ghost-like things), Faye Black, and many, many more characters including the Beast Changers who were inspired by the Old English tale, Beowulf, and the Norse Myths surrounding, the Monster, Fenrir and the god-giant hybrid, Loki.**

* * *

 **Warnings:**

 **There is blood, depression, madness and death mentioned in this chapter.**

 **There is a mention to WWI and II, in this chapter. I apologise right now if anyone feels offended, or upset by these topics, I apologise. I understand that some countries do not enjoy talking about these wars, but for the sake of this story, I have included them. I hope you can understand my reasoning for this.**

 **I also apologise if I get any details wrong, I have never been to Svalbard or Durmstrang, but I hope to go soon. Also, my Norwegian is a little rusty, I haven't used it in about fourteen years, so if I get some grammar wrong, then again, I apologise. If anyone does spot any mistakes, please tell me, and I'll fix it right away.**

 **Also, if you haven't seen 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them', then you might not get the concept of an Obscurus — and yes, I'm going along with the Ariana theory.**

 **Plus, Mythology is a bit messed up, so don't scream at me if I get it wrong. There are many different versions.**

 **Oh, and the Beast Changers, are not Twilight Shapeshifters. Okay.**

* * *

 **Blood**

 **'All Knights must bleed. Blood is the seal of our devotion.'**

 **―** **George R.R. Martin, A Feast for Crows**

 ** _19th of August 1899_**

 _Blood dripped into the ground the night Ariana Kendra Dumbledore died. It ran deep through the earth, staining the elderflower bushes that surround the Grey Bogs, turning the fruit and the immaculate white leaves a deep, sticky red. A cool wind whipped across the small village, kicking up dirt and whipping wet washing across the summer sky, staining the blackened night with streaks of white and faded blue._

 _Godric's Hollow, although known throughout Britain as the birthplace as one of the founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was also a place where dark magic lurked. Long before Godric Gryffindor was born, an old hag lived in the quiet wasteland of where the village stands, and it was there, where she created the true meaning of the word fear._

 _The hag had lived in the boggy marshes for a very long time, almost three hundred years, and while she had seen empires fall and rise, the old woman was not stupid. She had her wits and kept her mind sharp by asking lonely travellers questions about day to day activities and the curiosities of life. For those who fell under her spell, Hollow Grave, (as the Muggles would later learn to call her), would devour their heart, mind and soul, tearing them from limb to limb. However, there was one man who tricked her, turning her mind to chaos and blubbering bubbles._

 _The Grey Bogs was a cold, wet place, with dark pebbles lining its shore and the smell of death hunkering in the air. It was here, hidden behind a small forest and thick, unhelpful gloop, did Hollow live. Her home consisted of a small cave, and while it was neither pleasant nor warm, it fit the hag well enough._

 _Hollow's killer was a wizard by the name of Talor Metz. He, like many others before him, was returning home, his hands weary and sore, from the work he had received earlier in the day, that as he passed the ungodly bog, he noticed a strange girl sitting at the edge, her feet trailing in the gloopy gloom. Her hair was long, half held up by a sharp stick and her locks shone like fire. A pair of clear blue eyes watched him, a knowing smirk pressed on her pale lips. Her body, although thin and muscular was adorned in a long grey gown, her face concealed by a deep blue hood, held together by a red broach, the metal twisted into the calming shape of a tree._

 _However, although she may have been beautiful and her smirk was true, it was the sword sitting in her grip and the fire flickering beside her that caused the man to stop. The woman smiled, her hands never leaving the sword that lay across her thighs._

 _'Good evening, m'lady,' the wizard said, raising his hand in greeting and the woman nodded. And then she stood, sheathed her blade and walked off into the forest, leading the wizard to the hag, and Hollow's ultimate demise, where she was met with the right to finally die._

 _Although several thousand years had occurred since Talor had killed Hallow, tales spread across the world about the hag's horrific deeds, willing anyone to shudder in fear as they were told of her iron teeth and bloodstained claws. Mothers told their children about Hollow Grave's horrific adventures, reminding the children never to set foot in the bogs' waters, and yet, as Ariana sprinted past the Grey Bog's borders, the little girl of fourteen did not notice that she was being followed._

 _In turn, the village that sprung up there was named after two things. The great wizard who was born by the bog, and hag who lived there._

 _Midges curdled around her head, looking for an easy meal and Ariana batted them away, her legs pumping faster, her dark eyes wild with fear. Her light blue dress whipped in the wind, catching on the jagged hand of a branch, leaving a long tear as she passed and her strawberry-blonde curls that usually fell down to her waist in a thick, neat plait, tangled, allowing the girl to have a wild appearance._

 _'ABLUS, ABERFORTH, GELLERT! I ORDER YOU TO COME HERE! ' the girl roared, pausing to catch her breath as the clouds darkened overhead, casting the warm night into Jack Frost's icy grip. But her screams were met with silence. Growling to herself, the daughter of Percival Dumbledore carried on, her bare feet bleeding and grubby from running through the woods._

 _The Dumbledores' had never meant to cause chaos, and yet, that was exactly what the descendent's of Alis and Ellyn Dumbledore had done. For nearly seven centuries, one of the most powerful families in Scotland had flaunted their power, becoming firm friends with people as dark and devious as the Blacks' and as kind and prosperous as the Potters'._

 _For generations, Ariana's family had played their cards right, gathering money and gaining power, that by the time she was born, over six members of her family had managed to gain a seat on the Wizengamot. But a secret ran through Ariana's noble family, and unlike the Blacks who held Madness, or the Gaunts' who possessed the gift of Parseltongue and the Peveralls' who had gained the power of Necromancy, the Dumbledores' unforgiving power, was that of Persuasion._

 _Since the year one thousand one hundred and ninety-seven, the children of Alis and Ellyn had somehow managed to coax even the most guarded of secrets out of someone's mouth or compel a lost soul to jump off a cliff. Destrian Dumbledore had been the first to inherit his gift, and although his talent had been a surprise, the young wizard had quickly learnt how to use the legacy of Alis, so much so, that he had almost managed to persuade his monarch and Queen, Mary Stewart, to marry him…_

 _Almost._

 _It had been several hundred years since a Silvertongue had been born and although Destrian had met his demise with an axe and a chopping block, his children's, children's, children, and their descendants had carried the magical reward until it landed in the throats of Ariana Kendra and her siblings, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian and Aberforth Elbert._

 _Sweat dribbled down the girl's back, twisting at her heart, reminding her to run as she darted further and further into the forest. Dusk had finally fallen by the time Ariana stopped running, her breath coming in a rasping, lurching tone. She had to find them; she had to if it was the last thing she did. The girl tugged at her left sleeve, her blood having long since soaked into the wooden fabric._

 _'Albus!' Ariana cried. 'Where are you?'_

 _The bogs loomed before her, bubbling and begging her to jump, luring her to her watery grave. Something about them hypnotised her, egging her join. She stepped forward. Her arm itched, the new skin irritating and red and her feet burned as her blood dribbled into the earth._

 _A bird squeaked, and Ariana blinked, realising how close she was to the bog's edge. She shuddered and backed off, determined not to drown._

 _'Gellert!' Ariana cried, collapsing to her knees and pulling her hand up to her face, smearing her freckled skin with mud and grime. 'GELLERT!'_

 _But as the cry escaped her lips, Ariana had a funny feeling that his time, her Silvertongue had finally decided betrayed her. She couldn't summon them, not when her brothers and friend were locked in a furious battle of their own. Her hands shook as her head spun, swinging the orange haired girl into a catastrophic unbalance of wrong and right. Black smoke trickled from her fingertips, smoking peacefully in the cold air as the child cried, her head tucked into the earthy ground of the burial grounds of Hollow Grave._

 _She'd discovered Albus earlier that day, standing beside their mother's grave, hand tracing the delicate lettering. His auburn-red hair fell down his back in a long ponytail, the half-moon glasses that usually sat perched on his nose forgotten on the grassy wasteland. Rumour had spread around the small village, lurking behind the cabbage stall, that the sons of Percival and Kendra Dumbledore had returned home. However, it had been the letter in her pocket that had confirmed the boy's existence._

 _Ariana had found it earlier that day, tucked in the folds of her coat as if the Ghost of her mother had planted it there. It was rather strange, Ariana had noted, as she had cracked open the silver seal, disturbing the imprint a small cat, for no one else in Godric's Hollow, other than her brothers and Gellert, knew that she even existed. She had smoothed out the crinkled letter, revealing a delicate hand and set of strange instructions:_

 ** _'Dear Ariana_**

 ** _The curse of Hollow is thawing through, and so the death of one is true._**

 ** _Stop the chaos before it unfolds and have a new life to hold._**

 ** _from_**

 ** _A'_**

 _Ariana's soft curls had spiked when she had read the letter, her magic swirling around her in a thick mist, that she had almost killed the family cat. But somehow, through the darkest pits of Ariana's mind, she had calmed down and sealed her never. She had left her home unseen, the letter wedged deeply into her pocket, her feet pounding on the cobbled ground and it was only when the child had entered the dark, gloomy forest did she hear the screams. The sounds of the dead hung in the air, the smell of burning skin etched deeply into Ariana's clothes that the young witch cried out for her family, for her friend, she never noticed the duel that lay across the bog._

 _Two red-haired men, brothers separated by three years, stood back to back, their wands drawn in defence as they battled a young man with heterochromia coloured eyes which were carved disturbingly beautiful against his pale face. Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore may not have always seen eye to eye, but if there was one thing that the two could agree on, was their sister. Although their goals may have been different, and their hearts not always set in the right place, the children of Percival and Kendra, were a family of determined people. Gellert, on the other hand, was not._

 _He was brash, powerful and cruel, exactly the sort of man Ariana had been warned to stay away from when her mother was alive. He wished for war; she desired peace; he wanted chaos; she longed for adventure. Which was why, for the two, it made perfect sense to destroy the world — together. But it seemed, after the years of knowing Gellert, after the many hours of planning with his sister and her secret lover, Albus had betrayed them._

 _'Diffindo!'_

 _A light green light exploded to Ariana's right, hitting the branch of a tree. The tree cracked, splitting right down the middle before landing next to the exhausted witch._

 _'Is that the best you can do, Aberforth?' Gellert jeered, his wand slashing through the air, as he cast an array of nonverbal spells which flew across the bog. 'A cutting spell?'_

 _'Fuck off!' Aberforth growled, and the fifteen-year-old lunged, thrusting out his right arm. 'Confringo!'_

 _Gellert ducked as the blasting curse zoomed towards him, barreling into a rock, imploding the smooth object into a million pieces. Gellert laughed a small laugh, his lips splitting into a grin that reached his ears, his unusual eyes wide with mirth._

 _'That's more like it!' the wizard snarled. He sent a spell towards Albus, a blue light._

 _Ariana's eldest brother rolled to his left, avoiding the spell as a tree behind him decided to spontaneously combust into ash._

 _Gellert laughed again, knocking the brothers off their feet with a wordless spell. His silvery hair hung in ragged tendrils around his wild face, his eyes, one grey, one black, watched with unhidden glee as blood sprouted from Aberforth's chest. Heterochromia eyes were rare, however, as the daughter of Dumbledore stared into the man's eyes, a low smile danced across her lips. There was only one family that had those eyes matched Gellert's — only one family who's blood was far more powerful than her own — the Grindelwalds'._

 _The estranged son of Gøran and Idalia Grindelwald turned, his strange, beautiful eyes landing on Ariana. His skin paled when he noticed her exhausted body, her bloody feet and he lowered his wand._

 _It was a lover's mistake._

 _'Incarcerous!'_

 _A scream escaped Ariana's lips as Gellert's body was suddenly ensnared in thick ropes that burst from her brother's wand, wrapping her lover tightly, causing him to drop his wand._

 _'Let him go!' the witch roared, and she sprinted forward, monetarily forgetting that there was a bog._

 _'Petrificus Totalus!' Aberforth cried, and Ariana's eyes widened in surprised as her body froze as if she had turned to stone and she fell backwards. If she could have screamed, she would have. Screamed at Aberforth to let her go - screamed at Albus to stop this nonsense. Screamed at Gellert for starting the duel, to begin with._

 _'Now,' Albus snarled, approaching Gellert which pale, deadly eyes, 'now, I can enact my revenge.'_

 _He grabbed the wizard's chin, forcing him to look up into his face and the fury that was written across his features._

 _'You hurt my sister!' Albus snarled, digging his fingernails into Gellert's skin, 'You carved your mark into her skin! She's fourteen! How could you, you sick, twisted bastard,'_

 _'She wanted it!' Gellert hissed, spitting a mouthful of spit into Albus' eye. 'She asked for it!'_

 _Aberforth approached, wand outstretched._

 _'By the love of Merlin, let me kill him,' the boy cried, the tip of his wand glowing a faint green. 'Let me do it,'_

 _Gellert wet his lips, hesitant of the Killing Curse._

 _'Don't Ab,' Albus whispered, catching his brother's arm, 'that's what he wants,'_

 _Aberforth glanced across the lake to where Ariana lay, her dark eyes screaming at him not to do it. Finally, after several long seconds, he lowered his wand._

 _Gellert pounced._

 _Somehow, the ex-student of Durmstrang had managed to cut through the ropes, and as soon as he was free, he did two things. First, he released Ariana from her brother's spell, allowing the young witch to leap to her feet and sprint along the bog's edge, determined to reach the three. Second, he turned his wand on Ariana's brothers._

 _'We settle this,' Gellert whispered, his voice low and undoubting, 'together,'_

 _Sparks flew, the tips of each wizard's wands glowing an electric green. The three were so encased in the duel, so prepared to die for their own causes, that they never noticed Ariana leaping in front of Gellert until it was too late._

 _'AVADA KADAVRA!'_

 _The spells hit the girl in the chest, her scream echoing loudly through the forest like a dying spirit. Ariana's heart burned, ripping into a million pieces as her life collapsed before her eyes. She saw everything — every deed she had accomplished in her short life — every curse she had enacted — every life she took._

 _Her mother — exploding in a mist of black fear and death._

 _Jamie, James and Curtis — the three Muggle boys who had hurt her turning to ash on a cold winter's night._

 _Ted — the Baker's boy being ripped apart by unseen demons._

 _The Obscurial had first appeared when she was five, and although Ariana was mad, terrified and scared, a sort of overwhelming calm had come over her when the monstrous wind first arrived, that was until her father was incarnated in Azkaban Prison. It had been six years since Ariana had seen her father, and although she was neither remorseful or joyful for being the cause of sending him away, she did miss her daddy. She was a Child Killer — a danger to her own kind, and yet, there had been someone who had dared to love her, someone who had dared to show her the world._

 _Gellert, in the end, had been her hope._

 _Ariana smiled a small smile as tears fell down her cold face._

 _'ARI!'_

 _But it was too late, for the child was gone and the scream that left Gellert's throat was meaningless._

 _And yet, as Ariana's mind delved into darkness, she saw her peruser. She was tall, dressed in a worn grey dress and a thick woollen cloak, the colour of bluebells. Her fiery hair hung down her back, hiding her kind face. A rusted blade hung at her side, the sheath in tatters, her ink-stained hands trailing up and down the ancient weapon. She was beautiful, that as Ariana closed her eyes, she smiled._

 _She had done it. She had saved them, and her letter had come true._

 _The last thing she saw was Gellert's fearful face, her brothers' tear stained cheeks and the red locks of the goddess of healing as she knelt beside Ariana's dying body._

 _'_ ** _Søvn bra, Ariana Humblesnurr,_** _' Eir whispered, kissing the witch's head as the Obscurus rose, its black tendrils encasing the young witch's body like a lover's hug. '_ ** _Søvn bra, barn av Alis._** _'_

 _And then, everything went black._

* * *

 **6th of July 1993**

A storm whipped across the North Sea, kicking up the waves in a frenzied rush of foam and flapping fish, that as Mer leant against a craggy rock, her hair sticking the curve of her back she couldn't help but smile as Sirius Black's skeletal like body shook, the icy water clinging to his bones.

'What you so happy about,' Sirius grunted, and Mer's smile faded, her jaw tightening as her black eyes fixed on the man who sat before her, his knees pulled up to his chest. The years had not been kind to the Earl, and his skin was a horrible yellow colour that stretched across his bones, and his hair hung to his elbows in a tangled web. And the beard — the beard! It almost reached the floor!

Mer rolled her eyes. It was hard to imagine that this was the man, teenage witches had once flogged to see, waiting for the esteemed bachelor to sweep them off their feet and carry them away. It was almost sickening.

Once, her father had looked to the Black family, for not only was Mer and her brother descendants of the House of Black through their mother, Diana, but he had tried to gain Sirius Black II attention. Of course, the Earl had turned away, sneering at the man for is penniless beginnings and had frozen the family's rights to Diana's gold.

'That, boy, is none of your business,' Mer retorted as she folded her arms across her chest. Sirius' eyebrows rose.

'Boy?' he asked. 'I'm older than you by at least fifteen years.'

Mer shrugged.

'If you say so,' she said. 'But I have seen some pretty extraordinary things,'

'Like what?' Sirius grumbled. Mer grinned again and tapped her nose.

'Now that would be telling,'

Sirius sighed, fixing Mer a harsh look.

'Why did you help me?' he asked. Mer shrugged.

'I was bored,' Mer lied. Sirius' eyes narrowed.

'I don't think that's the case,' he said. Mer rolled her eyes.

'Does it really matter, Earl?' she asked, turning to face the ex-Auror. 'I just saved you from eternity with the Dementors. A little, thank you, would suffice.'

Sirius scowled. Mer folded her arms.

'Well,' she demanded, her noise pointing to the dark sky.

'Thank you,' Sirius hissed, his dark eyes almost black. Mer smiled, rubbing her hands together.

'You're welcome,'

Turning the witch faced the prison, her dark eyes landing on the cloaked figures who drifted above the ground. Shivering, Mer pulled her cloak further around her shoulders. Although the Dementors hadn't effected that badly, they still tugged at memories the witch thought had forgotten. Her child's death, her father's abuse and the man she had once loved, all tumbled through her mind like a Muggle roller coaster. They twisted at her stomach, turning her gut inside out until her heart winced. A trance numbing pain had started to creep into her bones, reminding her of the scars that lined her body and the life she had left behind.

The witch shivered as Sirius placed his hand on her shoulder.

'You all right?' he asked. Mer turned to face him.

'Yeah,' Mer whispered. 'Just… thinking,'

For a long while, the son of Orion Black stared at the witch, his eyes trailing over her thin face, the scars that lined her arms, before finally reaching her black, twisted eyes.

'Are you proud?' he finally asked, straitening his robes.

'Proud of what?' Mer asked.

'Proud that you helped me escape Azkaban.'

The question was rather pointless, Mer decided. Of course, she was proud. But the question toiled her mind. It hung in the darkness, prodding her with a stick, egging her to scream.

Death had changed the witch's perspective on Life the second her soul left her body, but returning back from the Death's clutches had indeed brought the meaning of 'curling your toes up' to a whole new level. For almost seventy years, Mer had walked on eggshells and watched the world behind a layer of glass, waiting for something exciting to happen. She was terrified of course, in case the letters to arrive. They would ask — no demand, her or her friends to do something, and yet, whenever they appeared by their mysterious messenger, her life turned that little bit more exciting.

Her hand curled around her locket, the thin metal concealing a very precious document. The letter had arrived like the other nine had, by a ghostly familiar-stranger with red-brown hair and a pair of beautiful brown eyes. He had smiled at her, bowed, and then left the letter on her bedside table before disappearing into the darkness.

Mer opened her locket and plucked the letter from its shell. Carefully, the witch peeled back the withered parchment, conscious that Sirius was watching her.

 **'Dear Mer,'**

 **The letter read.**

 **'Look after yourself and watch Black.**

 **You never know, he might become a useful ally in the battles to come.**

 **From,**

 **A'**

'What's that?' Sirius asked, looking over her shoulder. Blushing, Mer pressed the letter close to her chest.

'Nothing, just an old piece of parchment,' she gasped, clutching his arm. 'Now, shall we go?'

She grinned, a sly grin.

'Or do I have to scare you shitless again?' she asked. Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Mer had pulled him into a hug, her mind wandering off to a small cabin in the middle of a forest.

There was a loud crack, like a gun being fired by an inexperienced soldier, and the two disappeared, landing feet first on the rocky ground of a jagged Glen. Mer smiled, shaking out of the hug and turning to face the small cottage that sat snug against the towering mountains.

The home sat snug against a mountain with white-washed walls, curtained windows and a shingled roof, the tiny house looked like any Highlander's cottage, but there was something different about this one, something…ancient. For one, it was an original cabin, one where a crofter once lived and shimmering around sprouts of Heather and an empty landscape; a light purple sphere encased the home. Ninety standing stones surrounded the home, the blood of a child staining the ground as the barriers glittered in the wind.

A small rocking chair sat beside the front door, an abandoned paper folded on the chair as a small, black cat purred in the cold sun. Growing beside the cottage, in the thin tufts, the leafy sprigs of potatoes and carrots lined the landscape, and hanging from the windows, like some sort of disorganised birds next, feathers and herbs protected the home from unseen forces.

Smoke rose from the chimney, that as Mer approached the house, Sirius slowly following behind him, he never noticed the man with blonde hair watching the Azkaban escapee. Slowly, the wizard licked his lips and lowered his book on, 'The Effects of Magical Developments Among Squibs'. The Philosopher's Stone glinted merrily on his wrist, the thick, tree shaped shard turning his pale skin a fire red.

As Mer and Sirius entered the house, a tiny house-elf scampered out of the kitchen, a large pot in its little hands. The creature was small, as most house-elves were, with long winged ears which dropped over his orange eyes. He wore a baggy shirt like a king, but unlike his fellow kin, it was clean and freshly pressed and sitting on his tiny feet were a pair of cogs. His skin was wrinkled and cracked, and piercing through his right ear, lay a red stone.

The elf nodded to Mer.

'Oh, Miss Mer,' the elf squeaked. The elf bowed. 'Mistress Ari has—'

The elf stopped, his eyes widening when he noticed Sirius. Mer winced as the elf dropped the pan on the floor, spilling Ariana's famous onion soup on the floor.

'SIRIUS BLACK!' the elf screamed, pointing at the fugitive. Mer sighed and pressed her hand to her head.

'Sallow,' she said, kneeling next to the quivering elf. 'It's all right. Ari told me to get him,'

'Oh,' Sallow said, and after several seconds, picked up the empty pot, and with a click of his fingers, the soup had returned to the pot.

'Dinner's at seven,' he said, shakily, nodding at Sirius before turning and heading back to the kitchen, all the while muttering about Ghosts and how his 'Mistresses' and 'Masters' should not listen to them. Turning Mer raised her eyebrows and, (with a stunned Sirius), continued down the corridor. The tiny hallway was lined with stern portraits, that as Mer's nails bit into Sirius's arm, one portrait tutted at her hair.

'Oi,' Mer cried, stopping. Sirius bumped into her. 'Dor! Cara! You there?'

'We're in the living room!' a woman replied, her voice echoing through the living room door, oblivious to the elf's screams. 'What is it?'

Mer grinned, and pushed Sirius forward, her hand on his shoulder.

'Oh, nothing,' she said, opening the door. 'Just got an old friend for you,'

And with that, Mer pushed Sirius into the living room. Sirius' mouth dropped open, and for the first time in twelve years thought he had really gone around the bend, for standing in front of him was two people who had been dead for years.

The woman who sat by the window was in her early twenties, a mane of black hair falling down her hair in twisted strands. Her robes were a haunting purple, her eyes glassy white and resting on her finger, encrusted in a golden ring, a red stone glinted.

The man beside her had a book in his hands; a long wand tucked tightly in his long hair, his blond locks held together in a small bun. A pair of silvery eyes danced merrily behind a pair of glasses, and sitting by his foot, open and half drunk, a bottle of Blishen's Firewhisky sat.

'Dorcas,' Sirius stuttered. 'Caradoc.'

'Hi mate,' Caradoc Dearborn said. Dorcas Meadowes smiled. 'I see you finally got out of Azkaban.'

* * *

 ** _18th of November 1943_**

 _The wireless buzzed nervously, the voice of a dictator carrying against the wind as the storm blundered on. Åsmund Wolff shivered as snow crept down his neck, the freezing substance slowly turning to water as it touched his tanned, warm skin. The sound of birds hummed in the night sky, the animals all afraid for what was about to come._

 _Breathing slowly, the Beast Changer lifted his long pipe to his lips, breathing in the smoky smell of dried tobacco and splintering wood. His brows furrowed as he cast his gaze on the charred remains of Longyearbyen, Barentsburg and Grumman, the world's most isolated communities now ruined beyond recognition._

 _Åsmund grunted as the wind blew stronger across his face, the pain of war lodged hard in his gut. For almost three painful years, the descendants of Beowulf and the students of Durmstrang Institute had watched the world beyond a layer of magical defences and painted hearts as their home, and an unforeseen force overran their country. The war, a second war fought by Muggles, was undoubtedly inevitable, and yet, for twenty odd years, no one had ever thought that Hitler and his Nazis would ever invade a peaceful country._

 _'_ ** _Det er avdød,_** _' a voice whispered, '_ ** _og stirred på en skall av hedbrutt hjem ville bringe den tilbake._** _'_

 _Åsmund's back tensed as warm shadow sat beside him, the folds of his wife's cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders._

 _'For thirty-seven years that city has stood,' Åsmund whispered, English curling off his lips, 'and people have lived on this island for centuries…_ ** _og er alt set ta en fangst slag skip ødelegge alt._** _'_

 _'It took two battleships and nine destroyers to obliterate everything,' his wife whispered, 'that's no hefty feat, Åsmund.'_

 _'There are only four building left,' Åsmund continued as if he hadn't heard his wife. 'The hospital, the power-station, an office, and a home… That's it, nothing else. Even the Wizarding Council is long gone.'_

 _Åsmund sighed, running his hands through his tangled blond beard._

 _'When will this cursed war end, Dagrún?' he asked, his gaze settling on the red, black and white flag that flapped hungrily in the night sky. '_ ** _Når være ville en barn tillate gå over hjem?_** _'_

 _Turning to face his wife, the Chieftess of the Children of Beowulf shrugged, her cloaked shoulders slumping in defeat. Dagrún Hrafnkelsdóttir, (or as she was more commonly known Dagrún_ ** _Ormstunga_** _) was a great witch, with the extraordinary ability to see the future. Her prophecies may have been strange, but for the last three hundred years, the völva had managed to accurately predict the gender of every newborn Beast Changer, a year before they were born._

 _'_ ** _Jeg vet ikke_** _. War is unpredictable, harsh and deadly.' Dagrún whispered, taking her husband's hand, her calloused fingers clutching his own, 'There are many paths where the Führer will obliterate the world, and many more where Wizards and Muggles overpower him.'_

 _She sighed, her hands touching the folds of her prayer scarf that lay wrapped around her skull and auburn hair. The fabric, although discoloured and frayed, was originally part of an ancient flag that had been part of a long lost fleet. When Dagrún and Åsmund were young children, they had stolen it from a band of pirates that dared to cross the borders of Beowulf._

 _That had been three hundred years ago._

 _'You know I can't tell you exactly what will happen,_ ** _min elsker_** _,' Dagrún continued, her dark eyes narrowed, her fist clenched. 'But, I can say, that more will die before this war is over,'_

 _Åsmund closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest._

 _'So be it,' he said, and with a shaking hand, switched off the wireless, allowing the Führer's voice to drift into silence and the thundering wind to batter his mind._

 _'I'll be by Beowulf's tomb is you need me,' Dagrún whispered, gently pressing her lips to her husband's head. 'I'll see you soon,'_

 _Åsmund grunted, his clawed hands grazing the cold, snowy ground. As the sound of his wife's footsteps retreated, the son of Erik opened his eyes, staring out at the snowy landscape and the burnt city that sat by the water's edge. The snow was thicker now, coming in sore, painful smacks, reminding the Beast Changer of the bullets that had once peppered his skin in the days when he had fought in 1918. Breathing slowly, the Beast Changer rose to his feet, the ash curling around his head as his piercing eyes landed on the black dots that scoured the area. Voices rose into the night, the thick, twisted tongue of a language the Beast Changer had almost forgotten peppering his memory._

 _The son of Erik reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter. It had appeared that morning beside his breakfast, handed to him from his son. The small insignia of a wolf looked up at him that the Chieftain smiled as he broke the seal. The irony was certainly there._

 ** _'Kjære Åsmund,_**

 ** _Være forsiktig av en neste få år._**

 ** _Fortsette du familie nær, og du uvenn av arm rekke._**

 ** _Fra,_**

 ** _Ward.'_**

 _Frowning, the Beast Changer scrunched up the letter and stuffed it into his boot, slicing his hand on the rusted buckle. He sighed, inspecting his hand, as the red liquid dripped onto the snow, staining the white ground crimson as it webbed like a spider's bed below his feet. The Beast Changer gritted his teeth, staring up into the sky, nostrils flare, studiedly annoyed at Ward's warning._

 _'_ ** _Faen!_** _'_

 _The roar echoed over the mountaintops, the man's anger bubbling close, that as he raised his head and once again stared across the brunt city, something inside him snapped — it was time for war, and whether he liked it or not, Durmstrang and the children of Beowulf would be a part of it._

 _It would be a long time before Åsmund Eriksen ventured out the protective walls of Newtontoppen or left the cold stone of Durmstrang, that by the time he did, the world would have been thrown back and forth between battles that he and his people would have no idea what to do. He would enter that unknown world filled with the dread that he had lost his son, wife and daughter in a span of a few years and now had a country to pick up after. In those years, his home would become a battleground for Hitler and Grindelwald's men, and their Defence Minister, Vidkun Quisling, would be known as a traitor across the world. Telavåg would be obliterated, the Shetland Bus key to the survival of the Resistance, as people were murdered for fighting back._

 _Concentration Camps would be built, and in the end, the krone in Åsmund pocket would cost his nation their heads. Sami families would be pushed out of their homes, their skill in skiing and reindeer hearing forced against them, as the Nazis burnt Finnmark to the ground. An Icy Front would cast over the people of Norway, masking their inner most feeling until no one knew what they meant, that by the time Mavis appeared by his side, Durmstrang would be known for its Dark Arts and prejudges, more than its magic._

 _But for now, the descendant of Beowulf and the Chieftain of the Wolves of the North, would wait, surrounded by snow and frosty fears as the Nazis drew ever closer to the school. He would protect the children of Durmstrang like his forebears before him, battling until the end with an axe and his claws. He would kiss his wife until her lips were swollen and guide the students to their lessons, and yet, as the Beast Changer hurried into the warm halls of Durmstrang, he never noticed the young man who stood by the door._

 _Ward sighed, his eyes downcast, his black hair falling in front of his eyes. His robes whipped in the wind, revealing the jagged and torn remnants of a German aviator jacket, worn during the Great War. After a fleeting glance to the burnt city that stood before him, the Shade stepped forward, flicking his wand, allowing the sound of the Führer to echo around the night. He left soon after that, leaving only the sound of static and a pair of footprints as witness that a Ghost had ever stepped foot on Svalbard's icy shores._

* * *

 **1st of September 1993**

The tattoo on her arm was just another reminder of her mysterious past. The Deathly Hallows had always been seen as a cursed mark, a sign that evil was to come, but as Ariana traced the old mark with her finger, she couldn't help but feel giddy. She could never bring herself to remove it, for the memories that lay inked onto her skin were too important — to scarring to let go.

Night had come and gone, and the animagus had somehow found herself in the arms of Hermione Jean Granger on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. She had only learnt the girl's name when the young muggle-born's mother had seen the bright orange tufts of Ariana's fur and thrown a fit, sneezing when 'Crookshanks,' had tried to approach the brown haired woman. Although the witch was used to walking on four legs, standing on her own to feet was rather comforting.

Stretching her arms high above her head, the witch cracked her stiff neck, exhaustion settling deep into her bones. The dawn's red fingers rose low across rolling hills, and as the night's black curtain battled with day's glittering light, the witch turned to face the sleeping girl. She was young, and from her scent, and small breasts that graced her chest had started puberty. The girl's thick hair was tied tightly in a thick plait; a book balanced precariously on her head from the night before. Hermione, although bookish and slightly annoying, was not a bad person. With her intellectual mind and large teeth, the witch soared above her classmates in everything she did, that it was hardly a surprise that she fell asleep reading. Carefully, Ariana rose from the girl's window seat, and after making sure that the witch was asleep carefully removed the book from her face. She set it on Hermione's nightstand, next to a glass of water and her wand.

As the sun shimmered through the girl's open window, something strange caught Ariana's eye. After checking that Hermione was still asleep, Ariana approached the bookcase, twisting her long hair in her grip. Old tomes made of leather and new, unread paperbacks lined the shelves and from what Ariana could tell, not every book was Muggle-made. Some were wizarding, and a small smile graced the woman's lips when she noticed her old friend Bathilda Bagshot's name on one of the spines. Carefully Ariana moved on, until she reached a small, wooden box.

It was the box that had distracted her, for not only was it the only thing, other than books, on the bookshelf, but it was surprisingly dusty, as if Hermione hadn't bothered to clean it. Judging from the girl's room, the witch loved cleanliness, so it was rather odd to find an unclean box sitting on Hermione's bookshelf. The animagus reached up to the box, her fingers gently curling around the latch, and after looking back at Hermione unlocked it.

The first thing Ariana found was a collection of dog-eared photographs. They were Muggle photos, and didn't move, and yet, Ariana couldn't help but feel as if they were important. They were black and white, a brief reminder of the Muggle's lost photography skills as new colourful imaged replaced that of the old. Truthfully, Ariana missed the time when one had to sit for minutes just to get a clear photograph, for she felt that something was lacking in the new technicolour picture. Maybe it was the mystery, the intrigue, but Ariana had a choice, she would return to the age of roaring jazz and dancing hips.

America had been especially fun.

The witch recognised the people as well, two young things dancing in a crowd of mass chaos. She smiled, running a finger down the water stained photograph. They weren't in the middle of the crowd, just a young couple hidden to the side among a group of woman and children. Mr Roy and Helen Granger had been an attractive couple, a few cards short of the deck, but the two squibs had indeed held the world in the palms of their hands. Helen was an Italian beauty from Sicily, her parents, great Wand-makers renowned for making strange, but compelling, wands. Roy had been the great-grandson the distinguished potioneer, Hector Dagworth-Granger; although Roy was a squib, the young man was able to create some of the finest pastries men had ever seen.

She turned the photo over, and there scribbled in a neat hand, were the words: Granny Helen and Grandpa Roy — look up possible connection to magic.

Ariana smiled, putting the photograph back, before turning to face Hermione. So, the young girl was looking for her magical heritage — it was rather sweet. Suddenly, there was a loud rap, and Ariana quickly transformed back into a cat as Mrs Ganger opened her daughter's bedroom door.

'Its time to wake up, Hermione,' she whispered, a thin smile on her lips. 'You're off to Hogwarts today!'

There was a faint rustle, as the young witch pulled back her blankets, a thick grin on her lips. Ariana - or rather, Crookshanks, blinked. Maybe the child was about to explode. For a brief second, Hermione seemed to forget that she now had a cat, because she walked right past the red furred cat and placed the book that was on her bedside back onto the shelf.

Whether it was because of Crookshanks's fur, or the fact that the cat had begun to meow loudly, Ariana wasn't quite sure, but suddenly she had been scooped into Hermione's arms, the young witch rubbing her head with a warm hand. Breakfast flew by them, that by the time Ariana was put down the young witch had found herself plonked onto a cushioned seat the blurred countryside passing by as the Hogwarts Express churned to life.

Ariana had never actually been to Hogwarts onto the Hogwarts Express, and from what she could tell would have enjoyed the journey far more if she hadn't been stuck as a cat. It was bumpy, and every time the train was walloped by the wind, the carriages shook like a Niffler in a jewellery shop. Crookshanks would hiss at everything and everyone, that by the time Hermione sat down, Ariana was thoroughly spooked.

It didn't particularly help, that, that year, Regulus had chosen to disguise himself as the new Ancient Ruins professor, while Mer had elected to become a Hogwarts student. It also wasn't the best decision for Hermione Granger and her friends, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, to arrive in a carriage, already half filled.

Regulus sat beside the window, head leaning against the window as he stared out at the horizon, a bored expression on his handsome face. Every so often, he raised his hand would latch on top Mer's shoulder, stopping her from annoying the sleeping man opposite. The woman's dark eyes full of terrifying mirth, a thick grin on her lips as she pulled against Regulus' grip, as if wanting to rip the man's moustache off. The sleeping man in question was grey and covered in scars, and from where Ariana had been dumped on Hermione's lap, smelled vaguely of a wolf. Maybe he was Beast Changer.

'Hi,' Regulus muttered, giving the three stunned teenagers a lazy salute as they sat down. 'Nice to see you three again.'

'Mr Noir,' Hermione gasped, 'what are you doing here?'

Regulus smirked.

'Mo and I are off to Hogwarts, of course. I'm the new Ancient Ruins Professor,'

'And your sister?' Harry asked, watching the strange woman with wary eyes. 'What's she teaching?'

Mer paused, hand hovering over the man's face.

'I'm a student,' she snapped, leaning back against Regulus, arms folded. 'I'm a sixth year.'

'Really,' said Hermione, 'I thought you were older!'

Mer shrugged, fiddling with her necklace.

'I get that a lot.'

'Who d'you reckon he is?' Ron hissed, indicating towards the man as he plonking down next to Mer.

'Professor R. J. Lupin,' whispered Hermione, as Regulus, once again grabbed Mer's twitching hands.

'How'd you know that?' Ron asked.

'It's in his case,' the girl replied, matter of factly, as she pointed at the luggage rack over the man's head. Crookshanks raised her head. There, on a battered old suitcase with the man's name printed on the side.

'Wonder what he teaches?' enquired Ron, frowning at Lupin's still form.

'That's obvious,' whispered Hermione, clutching Ariana tighter as she tried to move. 'There's only one vacancy, isn't there? Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

'That's not entirely true,' Mer interjected, glaring up at Regulus, who had once again tried to rip the man's moustache off his lip, 'Rigel's a teacher.'

'Mo, stop it,' Regulus replied, boredom sinking into his voice as he once again snatched Mer's hands. 'What did I tell you,'

Mer rolled her eyes.

'You told me nothing. It was Glenys who told you to behave! She said nothing to me!'

'Glenys?' Harry asked. Mer rolled her eyes and pointed a thumb at Regulus' nose.

'This prats' wife!' the girl sniffed. 'He can't spend a day without her.'

'You're a little young to be married,' Hermione noticed, staring at the young man with a fierce expression and inside her own head, Ariana cursed the letter for telling her to protect this girl. Regulus smiled softly.

'I'm twenty-four,' he lied, hands twirling on his wrist to where his Philosopher Stone shard lay. 'We married young - we were both eighteen.'

'Yeah, only because you wouldn't stop asking her,' Meer grunted. 'Dor and I were drawing up bets how long it would take before she said yes!'

'Who won in the end?' Regulus enquired as if he had never heard the news before. Mer grinned a wicked grin and steepled her fingers.

'Who do you think?' she tired to the children. 'You guys looking forward to class? I was home schooled, so I don't really know what to expect.'

'Yeah, I hope he's better than the last two Defence professors we've had,' Harry replied. Mer's brows furrowed.

'Why?' she asked, head cocked like a dog.

'Merlin's beard, Mo,' Regulus grunted. 'Didn't you read the Prophet? Dor always puts it out for you in the morning,'

The girl snorted.

'I haven't read the paper in years, Rig,' she replied, rolling her eyes. 'Glenys uses it for firewood every morning,'

Ariana stiffened at her false name, wondering when Mer would stop looking at her.

'Well, I hope he's up to it,' Ron said doubtfully, indicating to Lupin. 'He looks like one, good hex would finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway…'

He turned to Harry, suddenly interested in his friend.

'What were you going to tell us?'

The Potter boy gave Mer, Regulus and Lupin a strange look, but after a moment's hesitation, and the realisation that Regulus had returned to keeping Mer in line, he began to tell his tale. Ariana bristled, her tail flicking dangerously as Harry explained how he had overheard a conversation between, who Ariana assumed was Ron's parents.

Mer paused for a brief second at the mention of Sirius Black's name and began to wring her fingers, wondering if the man she had helped escape Azkaban was doing all right with his old friends. Ariana internally grinned. The last time she had seen the man, Dorcas was desperately trying to cut his hair with a knife, the blind woman oblivious to what she was about to until Caradoc managed to snatch the deadly implement out of his girlfriend's hand.

Hermione's hands had left Crookshanks fur by the time the boy had finished his tale and instead were clamped over her mouth.

'Sirius Black escaped to come after you?' she gasped, lowering them. 'Oh, Harry...you'll have to be really, really careful. Don't go looking for trouble, Harry…'

'I don't go looking for trouble.' Harry grumbled, looking at his fingers. 'Trouble usually finds me.'

Regulus had given up trying to stop Mer from attaching Lupin and instead had handed the mad witch Ariana's sketch pad. Ariana had to stop herself from cringing every time Mer drew a thick line over a portrait's head, circling a halo or a pair of horns over various people she deemed evil or good. Although the Animagus couldn't help but smile, when the witch began to draw a huge snake on a new page, the creature's fangs dripping with venom.

As the three's conversation faded to back ground noise, Regulus peered over Mer's shoulder, his grey eyes pausing on the drawing as the witch's nose crunched up.

'What you drawing?' Regulus whispered as Mer continued to draw, her head leaning on the man's shoulder.

'It's Winnie, she's in my trunk,' Mer responded. Regulus' face paled slightly at the mention of the witch's pet snake.

'I don't think your snake's allowed at Hogwarts, Mer,'

Mer shrugged, looking up at Regulus.

'Riddle had Nagini when he was at Hogwarts,' she responded, suddenly deadly serious. Out of the corner of her eye, Ariana saw that Harry had frozen, his eyes round as he stared at the witch.

'Don't worry,' Mer continued, not even looking up at Harry as she spoke. 'My snake wasn't as evil as that Bastards. Winnie won't hurt anyone; she's too friendly,'

If Ariana had been human, she would have hit her friend over and over and over. She was going to compromise their mission! If anyone found out who they were, if anyone found out who Mer had loved, then all hell would break loose.

'What's that noise?' Ron suddenly asked, and Ariana turned her head, as a thin whistle ripped through the compartment. Mer paused her drawing and Regulus lifted his head from the window, his hair falling in front of his eyes.

'It's coming from your trunk, Harry,' said Ron. The teen stood up, and reached up to the luggage rack, pulling a Pocket Sneakoscope out of one of the side pockets.

Ariana gulped. It was glowing like a lightbulb and was spinning erratically. Oh dear.

'Is that a Sneakoscope?' Hermione gasped, hands clenching on Crookshanks' fur a little too tightly.

'Yeah...mind you, it's a very cheap one,' Ron said. 'It went haywire just as I was tying it to Errol's leg to send it to Harry.'

'Were you doing anything untrustworthy at the time?' Hermione asked eyes narrowed. Ron looked down.

'No! Well...I wasn't supposed to be using Errol. You know he's not really up to long journeys...but how else was I supposed to get Harry's present to him?'

'Stick it back in the trunk,' Harry advised as the Sneakoscope whistled piercingly, 'or it'll wake him up.'

He nodded toward Lupin. Ron stuffed the Sneakoscope into a pair of grey socks which thankfully dampened the sound.

'We could get it checked in Hogsmeade,' Ron said, sitting.'They sell that sort of thing in Dervish and Banges, magical instruments and stuff. Fred and George told me.'

'Do you know much about Hogsmeade?' Hermione asked keenly. Mer and Ariana looked up, suddenly interested. Like Hermione, they too had never stepped foot in Hogwarts, and although one was disguised as a cat, that didn't mean they were both preening to go. 'I've read it's the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain —'

'Yeah, I think it is,' said Ron, 'but that's not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!'

'What's that?' asked Mer. Ron turned to her, a dream look on his face.

'It's this sweetshop,' he whispered, 'where they've got everything...Pepper Imps — they make you smoke at the mouth — and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you're thinking what to write next —'

'But Hogsmeade's a very interesting place, isn't it?' Hermione pressed, hands once again fighting on Crookshanks fur. Arana winced. If it was possible, she'd to talk to Regulus, who in turn would have to speak to Hermione about handling cats. She would have got Mer to do it, but the girl was just far too crazy to do anything. 'In Sites of Historical Sorcery it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack's supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain —'

'— and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you're sucking them,' Ron marvelled, who was ignoring everything that came out of his friend's mouth. Hermione looked around at Harry.

'Won't it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?' she asked.

''Spect it will,' said Harry, voice suddenly dark. 'You'll have to tell me when you've found out.'

'What d'you mean?' Ron asked.

'I can't go.' Harry explained. 'The Dursleys didn't sign my permission form, and Fudge wouldn't either.'

Ron looked horrified.

'You're not allowed to come? But — no way — McGonagall or someone will give you permission —'

Harry gave a hollow laugh.

'— or we can ask Fred and George, they know every secret passage out of the castle —'

'Ron!' said Hermione sharply. 'I don't think Harry should be sneaking out of the school with Black on the loose —'

'Yeah, I expect that's what McGonagall will say when I ask of permission,' said Harry bitterly.

'But if we're with him,' said Ron, suddenly agitated. 'Black wouldn't dare -'

'Oh, Ron, don't talk rubbish,' Hermione snapped. 'Black's already murdered a whole bunch of people in the middle of a crowded street, do you really think he's going to worry about attacking Harry just because we're there?'

Regulus stiffened at the mention of his brother. Mer gave him a little nudge, still drawing.

Hermione had placed Ariana on the seat beside her as she talked, and it was then, and only then that the Animus noticed the large, squirming lump in Ron's pocket. Her eyes narrowed, and a sort of animistic pride flooded her senses as she fixed her gaze on Pettigrew.

'Don't let that thing go!' Ron cried, said, but too late; Crookshanks leapt lightly from the seat, and landed directly on Ron's knee and began to nudge the rat. Ron's hands suddenly clamped around Ariana's cat body, and with one hefty shove had jumped the cat on Mer's head.

'Get out of it!'

'Ron, don't!' said Hermione angrily. 'I'm sorry Morgause,'

Mer smiled, rolling her eyes as Regulus plucked the cat off her head, before handing it, Hermione. She waved her hand, as if to say, "don't worry,", and kept on drawing. Ron was about to open his mouth, when Lupin moved, his head twitching as he turned over. The Ancient Ruins Professor, the Animagus and the four students started at him.

Ariana, who curled up in Hermione's lap, her tail flicking back and forth as the train pursued further north, the green countryside slowly turning black as the night drew in. The food cart came at one, and Mer managed to persuade Regulus to get a chocolate frog.

It didn't end very well, as the Frog landed on the young Lord's face, leaving a stream of melted chocolate across his brow. Mer laughed, her high squeal reaching the ceiling as Regulus plucked it from his forehead, before tossing the squirming thing into his mouth.

'Hey!' Mer scowled. 'That was mine! I'm going to tell Glenys when we get to Hogwarts!'

'You should have eaten it then,' Regulus grumbled wiping the chocolate off his face as Hermione, Harry and Ron got their food. 'And why would my wife care, she'd probably laugh at you.'

Mer's scowl deepened, and she slumped into her chair, her quill strokes suddenly becoming stronger and faster. They tried to wake Lupin, but after a few moments of the man's quiet snores, they soon gave up.

Mer was about to open the Chocolate Frog box to revive her card, when the door slammed open, which not only caused Regulus to stop licking his plan, but it made Lupin stir. Standing in the doorway was two of the largest boys Ariana had ever seen. They remaindered her of rhinos, all big and dark haired, while the thin, white haired boy in the middle looked down at the cat, a smirk dancing on its lips. Ariana scowled. It was the Black smile.

From what she would Ramona Regulus telling her, his cousin Narcissa had a young boy around Harry's age - a Draconius Lucius Malfoy. Judging from the similar facial features that the boy shared with Regulus, his eyes, smile and sharp cheekbones, Ariana guessed that this was the Malfoy Heir.

Rain had begun to roll down the window-pain, revealing the cat's mood to the world as the Slytherins entered the compartment.

'Well, look who it is,' said Draconius, a lazy drawl coating his voice.'Potty and the Weasel.'

His friends chuckled trollishly.

'I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley,' said Malfoy, as he leant against the doorframe. 'Did your mother die of shock?'

Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks's basket to the floor. Lupin snorted as Regulus leaned across Mer, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder. He had risen the second Draconis had entered, his handsome face cold, the smiling young man all was gone.

'Who's that?' said Malfoy, taking a step backwards when he spotted Lupin and Regulus.

'My name is Rigel Noir,' he said, grimly. 'I'm the new Ancient Ruins Professor. This, behind me, is Professor Lupin. He's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher?'

'Hey, Rig,' Mer whispered suddenly rising to her feet, her long hair framing her face. 'Isn't that our cousin? Dragon, or something?'

'All Purebloods are related somehow, Morgause' Regulus drawled. 'But yes, you're Narcissus' boy aren't you?'

Draconius looked Regulus up and down as a confused expression crossed his face. Apparently, he was only used to being called "Lucius' son". The smile faded.

'What's it to you?' he sneered. Regulus put his hands on his hips, the right sleep of his black shirt riding up so that everyone saw the tattoo that graved the inside of his right arm. The word 'Toujours Pur' was almost burnt into his wrist, the familial attachment to a crazy family forever scorned into his skin. Draco's hand unexpectedly moved to his own wrist.

'I'm Cassiopeia Black's son,' Regulus lied, eyes grave. 'My blood, I'm your second-cousin. My mother was your great-great aunt… So I'd say we're family…wouldn't you?'

He tutted, a cruel grin spreading across his lips as Draco began to shake. Apparently, the tales of Cassiopeia murdering Faye had moved past a simple bedtime story for children and had instead transformed into a maddening legend.

'Yes sir,' Draconius stuttered, head low.

'Now, why don't you leave.' Regulus snapped. 'Before I give you a detention for bullying.'

It was safe to say that the young boy left soon after that. Mer grinned.

'Apparently, Mummy's madness was a good thing after all.'

'Yes,' Regulus mused, face grim. 'But it gave her no excuse to murder Sirius' sister,'

'Sirius Black had as sister?' Harry asked, stunned. Mer turned, nodding.

'Oh yes, she was the middle child. Her name was Faye. She also had a twin; his name was Regulus.'

'How did they both die?' Hermione asked, picking up on the present tense. Regulus' face suddenly darkened.

'Our mother went mad, especially as she grew older, and after father became paralysed, she murdered Faye in one of her rages. She hung her from the top of the Black Manor. I was about two, and I remember, Regulus telling how it happened. How his great-aunt, how my mother, killed Faye. He and Sirius told they're parents, but they, of course, didn't believe him. That, or wanted to hush it up, because it never went public,' the Professor rubbed his hands. 'Faye's buried in the family tomb - she was only ten.'

'Ten — my god,' Harry whispered.

'And Regulus?'

Regulus' face suddenly darkened.

'He, like his brother and cousin, turned out to be a follower of the Dark Lord and rose through his ranks becoming He Who Must Not Be Named's, right-hand man. In nineteen-seventy-nine, a few months after he left Hogwarts, he was killed in battle, falling for something he believed in…' Regulus paused. '…I supposed he was one of the lucky ones.'

'Lucky how?' Harry snapped, turning on the man. 'He worked for Voldemort!'

Mer froze, her hand tightening on Regulus' arm, as the Professor shuddered. Ariana hissed, digging her claws into Hermione's leg.

'Please don't say his name,' Mer whispered weakly. 'We're not fond of the man, especially since he ripped our family apart.'

'What I meant,' Regulus whispered, weakly. 'Was that his missed Azkaban. It's a horrid place. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, not even the Dark Lord himself.'

He suddenly closed his eyes, as a horrible cold feeling swept around the compartment. He shuddered.

'Can we not talk about it.'

Suddenly, Mer was thrown forward, her head crashing into the seat as the train rattled to a halt. She slammed her head on the window, her skull hitting the glass with a violent jolt as her trunk shot over her head, landing heavily on her body.

'Mo!' Regulus cried, spinning to face Mer, as he stumbled, the train's lights flickering off.

'What the hell!' Ron shouted, rising to his feet.

'Oh Merlin,' Hermione whispered, as Ariana jumped down from her lap, gently sniffing Mer. 'Is she all right.'

Regulus was now leaning over the two, his grey eyes watching the two with a worried expression. He quickly removed the trunk, and as his thin fingers curled around the golden handles, Harry peeked his head out the door, suddenly conscious of all the noise that surrounded them.

'What's going on?' said Ron's voice from behind Harry.

'Ouch!' gasped Hermione. 'Ron, that was my foot!'

'Hey!' Regulus cried, poking Mer, 'Mo! Wake up!'

The girl stayed quiet.

'D'you think we've broken down?' Hermione questioned.

'Dunno...' Ron shrugged.

In the darkened light, Ariana noticed that Regulus had leaned across Mer and was wiping a frosty patch away with his sleeve.

'There's something out there,' he muttered grimly, his hand trailing to his arm holster to where his wand lay.

'You think people are coming aboard?' Ron asked. Regulus grunted.

'Something like that.'

The door suddenly opened and someone fell into the compartment. Ariana jumped back onto the seat, shaking, as a stalky figure entered the room.

'Sorry! D'you know what's going on? Ouch! Sorry —'

'Hullo, Neville,' said Harry, pulling the person up by his cloak.

'Harry? Is that you?' the boy asked. 'What's happening?'

'No idea! Sit down —'

Ariana hissed as the boy tried of sitting on her, and she slashed his arm fiercely.

'Ouch!' the boy roared again.

'Sorry, Neville.' Hermione apologised. 'I'm going to go and ask the driver what's going on,'

She passed Harry and Ariana looked up as she suddenly shrieked.

'Who's that?'

'Who's that?'

'Ginny?'

'Hermione?'

'What are you doing?'

'I was looking for Ron —'

'Come in and sit down —'

'Not here!' said Harry hurriedly. 'I'm here!'

'Ouch!' said Neville.

'Hey, not on me!' Regulus snapped. 'My sister's knocked out! Watch the cat!'

'Quiet!' said a hoarse voice suddenly.

Lupin appeared to have woken up at last, and as he mannered past Regulus and Mer, pausing for a moment to check on the fallen witch, nobody spoke. There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the compartment. Lupin held a warm flame in his hand, and as he peered down at Mer, a thin finger on her throat, his wand in his mouth, he suddenly looked far younger than he had been, his grey face alight with knowledge.

'She's fine,' Lupin said, nodding to Regulus who gently gathered Mer into his arms. 'Stay where you are,'

As the Professor approached the door, it suddenly opened before he could reach it. Ariana would have screamed if she could, for standing in the doorway, looming behind black cloaks, stood a dementor. It's horrid had waved around the room the skeletal thing making Ariana's stomach churn. Regulus' face had turned a harsh white, and from her sleep, Mer began to whimper, the memories of an abusive childhood clouding her minds-eye.

Ariana began to run around the students, panic setting into her as she remembered. She saw things, horrible things — thing she had done.

Death, so much death flooded down her spine, and she began to yowl, fear closing her judgment. Regulus' slim fingers suddenly clutched the back of her neck as he pulled her into him, his own shaking from vibrating with her own as his devils pulled at his memory.

Was this what it was like for Sirius? Constant torture? Persistent sadness?

The cat began to cry, and before anyone could even scream, before Mer could start to cry, Harry James Potter slumped forward, his dark hair hanging over his head. But the worst part of it all was that Ariana knew it was going to happen, for deep in Mer's pocket there was a letter addressed to her.

 **'Dear Ariana,**

 **The Dementors are coming.**

 **M'**

Crookshanks wailed, his voice rising above Lupin's calming tone and Hermione's worried cries, and then, like ninety-four years ago, everything for the young with, went black, as she and Regulus collapsed.

In the corridor, watching the cat, and man from behind a thick coat, stood a young girl. She had silvery hair, like that of the moon, and she was shivering from head to toe. M licked her lips, staring up at the dementor wit ha steely gaze, and before she could change her mind, fickle her wand.

A brilliant silver parrot suddenly shot out of her wand, colliding with a giant wolf as Lupin's patronus battled the air, and together the ghost and the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor fought the creature away. As the Dementor moved away, Lupin lowered his wand, mouth open as he stared at the beautiful woman. It seemed that only he saw her, for the other were far too preoccupied with a fainted Harry Potter and cat and an unconscious Morgause and Rigel Noir to notice.

M smiled sweetly, her head bowing in a sort of thanks to the stunned professor, before she disappeared in a trickle of purple sand, leaving the man to wonder if he had actually seen her at all.

* * *

 _ **Norwegian Translations:**_

 _ **Søvn bra, Ariana Humblesnurr. Søvn bra, barn av Alis. - Sleep well, Ariana Dumbledore. Sleep well, child of Alis.**_

 _ **Det er avdød, og stirred på en skall av hedbrutt hjem ville bringe den tilbake. - It is late, and staring at the shells of broken homes, will not bring them back.**_

 _ **Og er alt set ta en fangst slag skip ødelegge alt. - And all it takes is a few battleships to destroy everything.**_

 _ **Når være ville en barn tillate gå over hjem? - When will the children be allowed to go back home?**_

 _ **Ormstunga. - Serpent-tongue**_

 _ **Völva — Wand carrier or carrier of a magic staff (kind of like a Seer or Shaman)**_

 _ **Jeg vet ikke. - I don't know**_

 _ **Min elsker - My Love**_

 _ **Kjære Åsmund, Være forsiktig av en neste få år. Fortsette du familie nær, og du uvenn av arm rekke. Fra, Ward. — Dear Åsmund. Be careful these next few years. Keep your family close, and your enemies in an arm's reach. From, Ward.**_

* * *

 **Dear Readers,**

 **'Boys and girls of every age, wouldn't you like to see something strange?' — guess who's been watching the Nightmare Before Christmas and listening to Halloween music? ME!**

 **Right, Hi again. Did you all enjoy? I hope you did. It took a long time too write.**

 **My reasoning for taking so long… well, I was afraid. I wasn't sure how people would take the WWII and I, references. I also wasn't sure if was appropriate to write about because people are, rightly so, still affected by them. The two wars were horrific, many families, including myself loosing family members. I, hopefully, have found enough information on Svalbard during WWII, and I hope it's correct. I also have a curiosity toward that time period, mostly because I'm fascinated on how it started.**

 **I know terrible, but I think it all comes down to the fact that my Bestefar has Alzheimer's Disease and all I hear is him blab on about escaping the Nazis by moving to Britain in 1936-ish and then moving to Bermuda. My Gran talks about the Clyde burning, whenever I ask her, and how she never wore a gas-mask, even thought she lived in the centre of Glasgow and probably should have, — oh and how her mother who used to slam doors. I'm now terrified of my great-gran, who by the way, died when my mamma was about…I don't know, ten?**

 **I guess it also doesn't help that my parents took me to Telemark when I was four and made me watch, the 1948, black and white film: Kampen om tungtvannet. This, in English, roughly translates to 'Operation Swallow: The Battle for Heavy Water' (or at least that was the English title was) I was scared shitless and ran out crying, and for the first time in my life my pappa bought me Ice-cream (note: ice-cream is really expensive in Norway, especially if it bought in a museum, so that ice-cream was like, maybe ten pounds).**

 **By the way, if you do want to know about how the Norwegians hijacked Hitler's plan to make Nuclear weapons, don't watch the Hollywood version, (The Heroes of Telemark), its crap! I mean, sure it's got Richard Harris in it, which usually makes it a bonus in my book, but still, the story was really inaccurate. My pappa, grandma, mamma and I spent most of last Christmas sitting on the sofa laughing — but the glasses thing did happen, that part of the film was true.**

 **Anyway…I'm rambling… Moving on.**

 **I also didn't really know how to finish it. There I was, revealing that Dorcas and Caradoc was alive and I had no idea what to do with Ariana. The photo thing came by chance! Hope you liked it too and yes, before you ask, Helen and Roy Granger will turn up - paulaa90, here are your Muggles, you asked for it, so you will receive! (And yeah, I know it's not really Hermione's parents, but its close!)**

 **Also, I was at school, for which turned out to be my final year, and I was busy writing exams. I managed to get an B in Latin and History, (History surprised me as I got a D in the prelim) and a C in Art and English (my whole class got bad grades in English, when in the prelims we were all As or Bs. We think it was the paper or the examiner. I was pissed, so pissed.) Even so, I can still do Archeology next year, so yay for me!**

 **Hope you guys who are still in school, (uni, collage, high school, primary, middle, or home school) had a good year and a great summer.**

 **So, now that both Regulus and Ariana have 'died', Mavis and Åsmund are in Svalbard, and the Ghosts have distributed their first round of letters, I will be working through their timelines, both in their pasts and presents respectively to figure out how to best tell you this story. I will warn you now, it get crazy! Well, everyone except the Ghosts. That will be in a possible Sequel, (You guys don't get a choice in that one I'm afraid, its gonna happen whether you like it or not!)**

 **Also, if you guys have any ideas, or if you want to tell me what person you want in the next chapter, please PM or Review this story, because then I will also know. I might set up a poll or something to figure out who certain characters will end up with.**

 **Next chapter will be up soon, hopefully.**

 **From**

 **Lily.**


	3. Life

**Disclaimer: Right, well, I don't own anything by J. K. Rowling, but I do own M, N, Eir, Ward, A (who are five, not six — turns out I'm still crap at maths — very annoy Ghost-like things), Faye Black, Mrs Helen and Mr Roy Granger, and many, many more characters including the Beast Changers who were inspired by the Old English tale, Beowulf, and the Norse Myths surrounding, the Monster-Wolf, Fenrir, and the god-giant hybrid (depending on what myths you look at), Loki.  
**

* * *

 **Warnings:**

 **There is madness and death mentioned in this chapter.**

 **There is a mention of Concentration Camps from WWII in this chapter. I apologise, but the characters story needs to be told. I also apologise if I get any details wrong, I have never been to Poland or Auschwitz.**

 **There is is Alzheimer's in this chapter, and as a person who has seen both my pappa's grandparents go through with it, I am sorry if it makes anyone feel awful.**

 **My Norwegian is a little rusty, I haven't used it in about fourteen years, so if I get some grammar wrong, then again, I apologise. If anyone does spot any mistakes, please tell me, and I'll fix it right away. In addition, I don't speak German and while I know easy words like Nein (No) and Ja (Yes) I have decided not to write it, as I have done so with Norsk. I hope you can understand my reasoning for this.**

 **If you haven't seen 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' then you might not understand who Queenie or Porpentina Goldstein are.**

 **Plus, Mythology is a bit messed up, so don't scream at me if I get it wrong. There are many different versions. If I get any historical facts wrong as well, I apologise. I do not have a mountain of historical books beside me, or any internet connection, so I cannot look them up to check.**

 **Oh, and the Beast Changers, are not Twilight Shapeshifters. Okay.**

* * *

 **Life**

 **"You're only here for a short visit. Don't hurry, don't worry. And be sure to smell the flowers the along the way."**

 **— _Walter Hagen_**

 ** _17th of August 1979_**

 _Regulus' palm stung against the air, blood dribbling down his fingers as the drip, drip, drip of his life-force splattered the wooden boat beneath him. He gritted his teeth, urging the ship forward, as the hull caught pieces of seaweed and what he hoped was dead fish, in the dark wet gloom. Kreacher clung to his side, his hands clutching at his Master's long black robes. He felt the house-elf's long nails dig into his thigh as his blue eyes landed on the island that lay just ahead. The elf began to whimper._

 _Under different circumstances, Regulus assumed that the island would have been quiet beautiful. A greenish light rose off the crystallised shore, making the young heir think of the green drapes that hung around his bed when he attended Hogwarts. Other than the jagged shoreline, the only other thing on the island was a basin. It rose into the air, supported by nothing other than the magic Lord Voldemort had infused into it._

 _Regulus shuddered as a wall of Dark Magic fell across him. Kreacher began to shake, muttering darkly to himself. As the boat smacked against the shore, Regulus quickly hauled himself out, and ignoring Kreacher's pleas for him to stop, marched over to the basin and stared into it's watery bowl. The boat floated away, leaving the two on the island and Regulus to stare at the bowl._

 _A small seashell, around the size of his palm floated in the water, giving the basin an almost childlike innocence; but it was the locket at the bottom that made the whole thing that much darker. Suddenly Regulus was repulsed. He was so close - so close to the horcurx that he could almost smell it, and yet, due to Kreacher's words, he knew what that water would do. The poison leered up at him, and before Kreacher could yell, Regulus' hand snatched up the shell. He downed the liquid._

 _His first sip made him see thing so terrible his mind almost begged for death; by the time the shell reached his lips for the second time, he was screaming for it. But no matter how hard Kreacher tried to pull him away, or how weak his fingers felt, Regulus kept drinking, until there was nothing left but a locket and a shining empty bowl._

 _Shivering, and calling out to people he had long forgot, Regulus removed his sister's necklace from around his neck, his blood mingling with the ancient locket so that when he removed the horcrux and dropped the decoy in its place, he would never know how powerful his secret would be. He dropped the locket. Kreacher picked it up as Regulus stumbled away from the basin, throat burning. He should have grabbed the house-elf, let him apparate away, but something in the back of Regulus' mind realised that he would not be leaving this place._

 _'Water,' Regulus breathed, his hands tightening around his skull as the horrible images flashed faster. 'I must get…water…'_

 _He lunged towards the shore, ripping free of Kreacher's grip._

 _'MASTER!' Kreacher screamed, pulling his leg. 'MASTER! DON'T!'_

 _But it was too late. As soon as Regulus touched the watery edge, things leapt from the dark. Somewhere in his tormented mind, Regulus realised that they had always been there, watching him from the water, but as he was pulled into the lake, all he could think of was that he needed to drink. The temptation to plunge his head underwater was almost insulting, for never before had Regulus needed to drink more then he did then. His threat burned, twisting as the poison ran down his throat, turning it to mush. A wordless cry left his lips as he rolled forward, the hands pulling at his body._

 _Inferi, he realised, far too late. They're Inferi._

 _As he was pulled further into the water, Kreacher's hands pulling at his robes, Regulus' eyes turned to stare up at the caves ceiling. Long ago, before Hogwarts and Death Eaters, when his twin had sat opposite him, her knees touching his, she had grabbed his hands, eyes misty as if she were seeing, but also not seeing at the same time._

 _'Reg,' she had said, clutching his palms tight. 'If I die, I want you to promise me that you will live.'_

 _She gave him a little shake._

 _'Promise.'_

 _Regulus, who at six years old had been completely stunned by his sister's request, nodded._

 _'Of course,' he breathed, 'I will. You'll do the same thing if I go - won't you,'_

 _Faye had fixed him a sad look, as if deep down, she knew that she would be the one who set eyes on her forebears first._

 _'Yeah, I will,' she lied._

 _Now, years later, Regulus realised with a sickening jolt that his sister hand't been talking about her death, but rather warning him, in her own strange way, about his…_

 _She was after all a seer…_

 _A True Seer…_

 _A follower of Apollo…_

 _The Oracle…_

 _Regulus sighed, head lolling._

 _'Faye,' he breathed, gulping back air as the Inferi pulled and pulled. 'I'm…. I'm sorry.'_

 _Regulus Black closed his eyes, and as Kreacher screams were stilled by the flood of water that ran into the wizard's ears, he couldn't help but realise that his death was heartless…so very heatless. As the water surrounded him, he had never imagined death to be so cold. It clung to his body in tight breaths, caressing his icy skin like glass as white fingers pulled him further down, dragging him to the seabed. His robes clung to him, the black material billowing around him like swans, that as the water slashed against him, he wondered if it was the rocks, or the Inferi that were ripping him to pieces. However, although cold, he expected the skeletal reaper with open arms._

 _The poison, whatever it was, still burned in his throat, the memory of his sister's corpse clear against his mind. It was a disgusting way to die, a horrid truth against the cloud of lies that scattered Regulus' life, but in the end, if he didn't take it, then who else would. There was a kind of hopeless tragedy to his death, like a scene out of one of Shakespeare's plays; a kind of dark humour that the Dark Lord would have enjoyed. To destroy the Horcurx, to destroy Voldemort, the pressure would have to die along with it, becoming part of its enormous protection. Regulus would have laughed if he wasn't underwater._

 _It was maddening comical._

 _Bubbles swirled around him, the Inferi leading him to their home as the creatures bit and tore at his flesh, their ragged fingers scraping down his back as if it were nothing but butter. The water above him pooled, rippled and frothed, as the creatures moved in and out of the darkness. His muscles ached and his legs hurt, pain shooting down his legs as the inevitable defeat of what was about to happen to him clouded his senses. He sagged._

 _As he sunk, his mind turned to his sister. Would she be angry? Would she grab him by his ears and whack him against some afterlife statue? Or would she laugh? Call him a hero? Would she take his hand and introduce her to dead relatives long forgotten? Was there even an afterlife? Would he even see her?_

 _Suddenly Regulus felt scared…_

 _He didn't want to die…_

 _Not now…_

 _It was too soon…_

 _He had to move his arms…_

 _Had to swim away…_

 _Right now…_

 _NOW…._

 _Whether it was by sheer luck, or some move in destiny's cruel game of chess, a bright light suddenly filled the water's black gloom. Regulus opened his eyes, shielding his face as the Inferi screamed, their shrill voices breaking the silence as the orange and blue lights smacked into them. They exploded, showering Regulus in a mixture of seawater, and dead flash. He couched, water entering his lungs, as a figure in black robes lunged into the water._

 _Bubbles erupted around him, and Regulus could hardly see anything, except for the black hair and grey eyes that swam towards him. Later he would be ashamed to admit how afraid he was. Panic took hold of him, and feeling suddenly shot down his arms as he tried to swim away, to breathe clean, fresh air one more. But the figure was faster, and had a wand. More light flickered in the water as more Inferi tried to grab Regulus, however, like the others, they met an explosive end._

 _Regulus was almost at the surface when the figure grabbed him, long hands biting into his shoulder. He thrashed, adrenaline pumping down his veins faster then a harpies wing. He yelled, water filling up his lungs. Cold panic shot thought him, as a strong sense of fear flashed in the darkness._

 _He didn't want this! HE DIDN'T WANT THIS!_

 _Regulus screamed, trying to get free. He coughed — spluttered. Unknown arms lifted up, pulling him back, the haunting familiar grey eyes full of worry. However, his death still lingered. Blackness across Regulus' swimming vision, as the water transformed into the hard crystal he and Kreacher had once stood on, and as the scion of Black closed his eyes thought he saw a red stone flicker against the darkness as a bracelet dropped by his side. A pair of sopping wet boots smacked beside his head as his require removed them, black hair falling down his pale face like rat's tails. Somewhere in the back of his mind Regulus realised Kreacher had apparated way, probably weeping to himself, knowing that he could not tell any one of what had happened that night._

 _Regulus' head lolled and he turned to his left. Beside him sat a young woman, her fiery red hair glowing in the darkness like a candle that had burnt for far too long. Her blue eyes stared down at him, both ancient, and afraid at the same time._

 _'Ward,' the woman breathed, her voice heavy and accented — Scandinavian — Norwegian maybe… 'Ward! We have to help him!'_

 _'We can't Eir. We'll change history! He's already to far gone,' the man breathed, pressing a long, fearful kiss to the woman's head. 'I'm sorry…. But we're too late… Ariana's too late… We can't save him…'_

 _'NO!' the goddess screamed, shoulders shaking. 'NO! WE GOT HERE IN TIME! WE GOT HERE IN TIME!'_

 _Regulus winced, mind numbing as his body drew cold and as the unknown woman sobbed, held only by the man who sat at her side, he heard the distinct crackle of the secret door opening and the room flooded with light._

 _'It's Ariana,' Ward breathed. 'Maybe luck is with us tonight… Eir, we should go,'_

 _Eir pressed a fierce kiss to Regulus' brow, running a hand down his pale face. Tears stained her pretty face, a thin smile adorning her lips._

 _'Your safe now,' she breathed. 'She'll keep you safe, Little King,'_

 _The two rose, clutching each other as they disappeared in a waterfall of purple sand. The sound of running feet caught Regulus's ears, and a worried cry snapped across the cave._

 _'No,' a girl's voice cried. 'No!'_

 _A flash of silvery-red hair caught Regulus' visions, as a young woman crawled towards him, her brown eyes filled with worry. As a strange bracelet was strapped to his wrist, darkness descended Regulus' mind, and his soul dispersed, as Death claimed his prise._

* * *

 **29th of November 1993**

Mr and Mrs Roy Granger had long been told that they were insane, and while no one could really prove it, the elderly couple had long since expected that there probably was some true within the matter, for both their minds were riddled with Alzheimers.

Both were quite old, Roy Granger himself reaching his ninety-second year, and wrinkled, and while Helen would mutter to herself in Greek and knit until every person in the nursing home had at least three pairs of different coloured scarves, neither could forget their roots. More than once, the nurses and carers at Green Meadows Nursing Home would find Roy staring at his tea, stirring it quiet strongly as he mumbled about "frog-spawn" and "Potions"; even Helen was known to cause trouble, by staring up at her nurse, a lovely woman by the name of Mandy, and ask quiet plainly, in Greek of course, where the "Chocolate Frogs" were.

Usually, Mandy would smile at her, and gently pat her hand, before slipping a chocolate shaped toad onto her plate. Having worked out what the woman wanted a long time ago, she was at first startled, then amused at the request, before going out and buying a toad mould and making her own "Chocolate Frogs" for the two to enjoy. Unlike their magical and charmed counterparts, these chocolates crumbled in Roy and Helen's mouth, and tasted awfully bitter. Somewhere in their troubled minds, the two knew that these frogs weren't the ones they wanted, and rather then make a fuss, (like Mrs Rosemary Hitches who sat in the wheelchair beside Helen) they smiled sweetly and ate their treat. Mandy would grin, make some comment how they were so well behaved and push the trolly on, readying herself for Mrs Hitches tantrums when she realised, for the one-hundredth time, that there was spam in her sandwiches.

The couples bedroom was, thankfully normal. Separated and placed in different beds due to Roy's bad back, and Helen's terrible neck, their room was covered in wires and funny boxes which Mandy had explained was a breathing apparatus. Photographs of their children and grandchildren sat on bedside tables, as the two tried to figure out who each person was, and along the wall, hanging from nails, was a thin scarf, and a pair of aviator sunglasses, a distant reminder that Roy had flown a plane during WWII.

However, the two were not as far gone as the doctors liked to believe, for hidden from prying eyes, in an invisible briefcase under Helen's bed, was the couple's only magical worldly possessions. Moving photographs, and a flying snitch flickered nervously in the case, that when Roy ever opened it, he was met with the wonderful memories of Ariana Graves and the Goldstein sisters and those strange ghosts that never seemed to leave his thoughts. A worn, dog-eared copy of Beadle the Bard sat next to an empty potion bottle and a Gobbledygook phrase book; a long broom, made from an Athenian olive tree, twitched next to a few golden galleons. Ribbons that tied themselves and a pair of shoes that muffled someone's walk, were wrapped tightly together, and sitting onto of that, hidden in their boxes like some sort of deadly secret, were their parent's wands.

Mandy had never seen those wands, not even Mrs Hitches who had been at the nursing home for the same time as the Grangers, because they knew, even in their muddled minds, that the Statue of Secrecy needed to be upheld… even if they didn't like it.

It was the second of September, during a lovely, cold afternoon, when Mr and Mrs Granger received a visiter. Usually, the two only met their children, and grandchildren, which was an award affair at the best of times. They would cuddle around the two, ask boring questions and leave, as if the two were nothing but cockroaches. Michael, their youngest son, had a daughter but from what little memories the Grangers had, they couldn't remember ever having met her — she was always away at some boarding school. So the two were quiet startled, when a bald man, with deep brown skin strode into the room.

He looked a little out of place, with long purple robes and a strange hat, and everything right down to his dragon hide boots and golden earring screamed magical. He strolled past Mandy, and before the woman could ask why he was there, he dropped into a chair opposite Mr and Mrs Granger.

'Well, its about time someone came for us,' Mrs Granger responded, leaning back in her chair, her dark eyes glaring fiercely at the man. 'Roy and I have been waiting for one of you to turn up for ten years — have you come to obliviate us now?'

Mandy, who was nervously watching the man, stared at Helen, mouth open, for this was the first time she had ever heard the mad woman speak English, let along a completely sentence. The man smiled, and raised an eyebrow.

'You're an Auror,' Mr Granger said, studying the man with narrowed eyes. The man smiled, nodding.

'Yes,' he breathed, sitting down. 'My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt - I'm the deputy head.'

'Ohh,' Mrs Granger gasped with mock interest. 'Did you hear that Roy, we're so special that the deputy head auror has turned up to give us a visit. Shall I put the kettle on? Mandy, Mr Shacklebolt will have a cup of tea!'

Her husband grinned as the man was handed a cup of tea by a terrified Mandy.

'Now, now, Helen, must you be facetious?' he asked, giving his wife a knowing look. 'The poor man's just doing his job,'

'A job that's down well nutty,' the woman hissed, giving the man a horrible look. 'I suppose you want to know where our things are. They're under my bed in a suitcase. Room four-hundred and three.'

'Thank you, I'll pick them us later,'

The Auror took a sip of his drink. As he drank, more people in red and grey robes suddenly flooded the nursing home. Mandy took a step forward, oblivious to the toned muscles and strong height of the men and woman who surrounded her.

'Oi!' she growled, face flushed with fury. 'What you all doing here? Only one person per patient!'

She eyed their wands, which were pointing directly at her, and her face paled.

'If your part of some gang, get out right now! This is privet property!' she stumbled forward, dropping the kettle. 'Emily, did you let all these people in? Emily? Em!'

But the receptionist never responded, and instead, Shacklebolt raised his head, giving the woman a thin look.

'Miss Emily Rod had been indisposed. I'm afraid this is a government issue.'

'What do you mean Em's been indisposed? Government issue? What tosh! Penelope! John! I need you!' she paused when the others did not call back, and before she could rush into the kitchens and find out what was wrong, an Auror grabbed her by the arms and pulled the muggle down to the floor.

'Hey!' the woman screamed, kicking the man in the face. 'This is abuse! I'm going to phone to police! Hey, do you even hear what I'm saying? GET OFF ME!'

Helen sighed, running a hand down her face.

'Did you really have to do that?' she asked, hands twitching over her knitting. 'You could have stunned her. It would have made the entire situation easier… And they say I'm the squib.'

'Its standard procedure,' the man said, suddenly weary. He paused, smiling. 'Don't worry, we'll wipe her memory before we leave. The same will happen with the rest of the patients.'

He indicated around the room to the elderly occupancy, who were thankfully far to gone to realise that something was happening.

Roy closed his eyes, wishing for the millionth time he was a wizard.

'Before you make us forget,' Roy breathed, clutching his wife's hand so that it turned white, 'I will ask one thing. Is there anyone in our family who is magical?'

Kingsley Shacklebolt paused, lowering his wand as his fellow Aurors and Obliviators held a screaming Mandy back.

'Your granddaughter, Hermione,' the man finally breathed, his earring twinkling in the light. 'She's a witch.'

'A Ravenclaw? Like Hector?' Helen asked, leaning forward in her seat. The Auror shook his head.

'No, from what I understand she was sorted into Gryffindor,'

Roy smiled, crossing his legs.

'So our little Princess is like my grandmother… I have a letter…' he paused, shaking had reaching into his backpacker as he retrieved a thin envelope. He licked his lips, steeling his gaze as he looked into the Auror's dark eyes. 'Give it to Hermione please… I want her to know about her magical heritage… We've never met her you see.'

Shacklebolt nodded, setting his cup down.

'Of course,' he said, taking the letter. Roy sat back, jaw set.

'You can do it now,' he grunted. Kinglet rose, indicating for an obliviator to step forward. The man was tall, with blonde hair and a pair of blue eyes that were hidden by thin glasses and a pained expression.

'Just do it, boy,' Helen snarled as the man's wand wavered. 'We're ninety-two and are only a pair of squibs after all — nothing too important.'

The man winced.

'I apologise,' he breathed, 'but it's the law — any squib with Alzheimer's or Dementia must be obliviated. You are a danger to Stature of Secrecy.'

Helen snorted, eyes rolling.

'Sure I am,' she grumbled. 'Just don't tamper with anything normal — I want to remember my sons faces when they next come for tea… Not that I enjoy looking at their ugly smiles,'

'I'm afraid Mrs Granger, that the procedure is going to take everything away. You'll most-likely die soon.'

Helen's jaw clenched and Roy patted her hand.

'It's all right dear,' he breathed, pressing his lips to her finger and giving them a small kiss. 'We always knew it would come down to this. Ariana did warn us.'

Helen sniffed, eyes watering.

'I don't want this,' she shuddered, as the man raised his wand. 'This is not how we do things in Greece!'

'Please hold still,' the man said, as his wand began to glow. 'It will be less painful if you don't move.'

As Roy and Helen closed their eyes, their muddled minds grasped for a memory that they might be able to hold onto, and just as they were getting comfortable with the fact that the Obliviator might not take their memories, everything disappeared in a flash of white light and Mandy's screams.

* * *

 **29th of December 1944**

 _Poland was cold; both literally and metaphorically. The train rattled and shook as it moved along its tracks, the thin layer of frost tightening in the cold breeze as winder drew ever closer. Wizards who hand managed to hide their wands had created small fires, and muggle children huddled around them, while their parents, if they were still alive, watched with unknowing, sometimes fearful eyes. To them, magic was curse, and while the wizards were technically breaking the Statue of Security, they doubted these prisoners would ever tell the Nazis what they saw._

 _Áshildr huddled close to her brother, wrapping her long arms around Flóki's tiny body, cuddling him tight with all her might. He sobbed tightly into her neck, his thin cries muddling with others, that the young Beast-Changer had no idea if he was the one actually crying or if she was just hearing an echo. It was awfully cramped in the trains, the smell of piss and sick clouding her mind that she barely had any sense of direction._

 _For four weeks the small family of two had travelled over sea and land, sometimes walking for days before finally collapsing in a heap. Children had been murdered, their parents screaming as the Nazis cut their throats. Elderly had been left to die, their bodied sinking into a mass grave when they failed to keep up. Áshildr kept her brother close, concealing his tiny body in her breast, keeping his face hidden whenever violence occurred. Although she herself was a hundred and two, Flóki was still young, and having only seen thirty-three winters, he was still considered a child among the Beast Changers of the world, his body taking on the from of a very frightened eighteen-year-old._

 _Áshildr herself looked, at best, in her late twenties, however, the muggles were unsure, especially since she refused to tell anyone anything about them. She had been beaten for refusing to tell the Nazis her name, and her long, beautiful red hair which she had inherited from her mother had been cut short when she dared to speak in the language of her birth — in Old Norse. While most students at Durmstrang could tell Áshildr and Flóki Wolff were related, the people in the train could not, and they stared at the two, confusion flittering across their eyes as the red haired girl coddled the young boy._

 _Pale blonde hair fell down her brother's tanned face like wet sand, and his blue eyes scampered around the train, looking for away way out. Every so often, the unchanged Beast Changer would mutter a spell, his frostbitten fingers moving in broken jerks against his sister's neck as he tried, but failed, to create the magic. Wincing, the female Beast Changer lowered her head, pressing a kiss to her brother's neck, and gently rubbing his blackened fingers in-between her hands, her desperation to glue them back together useless against the screaming wind._

 ** _'Miss,'_** _a voice breathed, broken German lining the child's tongue,_ ** _'do you know where we're going?'_**

 _Áshildr raised her heard, blue eyes meeting dark brown as she started down at the young girl who sat beside her. The girl wasn't really a girl, more like a young woman who was just about to reach adulthood. Like Áshildr, she sat beside a young boy, who jousting form the familiar features that graced their faces, were most likely siblings — twins maybe._

 _Her hair was a pale reddish-silver, the ends twisted into a thin plait, while her brothers was black as pitch. His eyes were silver, like coins, and he stared across the train, sorrow lining his strange gaze, as if afraid to move, incase the occupancy killed him. They were dressed in strange clothes, a mixture between muggle and wizarding robes, that it took Áshildr a little longer than she would have liked to admit that the two were wizards._

 ** _'No,'_** _Áshildr breathed, her German a whole lot better then the woman who sat beside her. '_ ** _But I wouldn't be surprised if we were heading towards a Death Camp,'_**

 _The girl's face pales and she leant her head on her brother's shoulder, shaking fiercely. She muttered something in English, a fearful gaze on her pretty face. Áshildr frowned. She hadn't even seen them get on the train. The girl reached for her wand, pulling it out. She screwed up her face, as if preparing herself to apparate. When nothing happened, she opened her eyes, fear clouding them once more._

 _'You can't Apparate,' Áshildr replied, English lulling her tongue into a jumpy rhythm. 'They've put a spell around the train. I think they knew wizards would be taken,'_

 _The girl's face, if possible, grew ever fearful._

 _'What's your name?' Áshildr asked, rocking her brother back and forth as he began to weep harder. The girl paused, as if wondering whether if it was dangerous to speak._

 _'My name is Mona,' she breathed. She shook her brother. 'This is Nix.'_

 _She looked wildly around the train._

 _'And I have no idea how we got here,'_

 _Áshildr frowned._

 _'What do you mean?' she asked, as Flóki's arms tightened around her neck, making her wince. The girl shrugged._

 _'I was with my cousin, Ward, his wife and my other cousin, Azar, and we were all together and then Nix and I were here…' she paused, screwing up her eyes to think. 'We were… We were… Oh Merlin… I don't remember where we were! Nix, do you remember?'_

 _Her brother shook his head — he was still numb, as if he had never seen death before._

 _'What's your name?' the girl breathed, struggling to calm her breath. Áshildr paused. Was it wise to tell the children her name?_

 _'My name is Ash,' the woman eventually decided. 'This is my brother, Loki. We're from the north of Norway.'_

 _The girl's eyes flickered for a second, as if recognising the names, but before she could open her mouth to answer, the train halted. People rocked forward, and the wizards who had lit up small fires, covered them with their cloaks. Fear lined everyone's face as the doors slid open, and the tall, brutish men entered the compartments. They pointed their guns at them, screaming in German, demanding that they get out._

 _Áshildr, who was close to the door, was one of the first to climb out of the_

 _Her heart stopped as she stared up at the wooden archway, — the name that was inscribed along it. Her eyes travelled further to the pale faces, and dead eyes of the prisoners who moved in and around the caged ground, digging out plants and moving with a sickly speed. They were at a Death Camp all right — the mother of all Death Camps._

 _Áshildr heard Mona muffle a terrified scream, as the Nazis pushed them forward, and into the cold, deadly halls of Auschwitz._

 _It was in this place, that M and N would be born, their arms scotched with numbers for all to see, and while Áshildr and Flóki Wolff would never see another summer, or another place ever again, the two twins would later move on, driving back and for between contents, until they met the firm, but kindly gaze of Åsmund Wolff, King of the North…_

* * *

 **2nd of September 1993**

Dinner at Hogwarts was as wonderful as he remembered. He's feasted on onion soup, (which was far better than Ariana's, not that he'd ever tell her), honeyed pork and roast potatoes, and to top it all off he finished the meal with a big slice of treacle tart; the morning, however, was less fruitful.

Regulus had never been a fan of breakfast, settle him with a mug of tea and he'd be off, but that morning, much to his protest, Minerva McGonagall had scooted over a bowl of dreary looking porridge and demanded that he eat it. Sighing deeply, he gave a sharp glare at his old transfiguration teacher and tucked into the meal. He's received some strange looks over the past few hours, form many teenage girls, to a few anchors looking boys; however the strangest look at all was from his old friend and housemate, Severus Snape.

As a boy, Regulus and his friends often crowed that one day Severus would be potions master, and apparently all their teasing had actually paid off. While Regulus had made certain precautions, like lengthening his nose, and making his mouth slightly fuller, he hadn't really bothered to change his appearance — it had been almost fourteen years for Merlin's sake, no one would remember him. But as Regulus scoped up at the last mouthful of porridge, apparently he was wrong. Severus was positively glaring, his black eyes narrowed with suspicion and as he drank a mug of coffee, his lips curling.

'What school did you go to?' Remus Lupin asked and Regulus turned to face the man. Truthfully, if he was being entirely honest, he was a little bit confused that the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher didn't recognise him too, for the scion of Black certainly did, and that was before Miss Granger told him his name on the train.

The werewolf, although riddled with scars and thin moustache that was somehow still intact thanks to Mer's constant agitation to rip it off, was recognisable. His once dark brown hair was speckled with silver, and his green eyed held a darkness to them that Regulus wondered would ever leave. His robes were shabby and old, and his wand was slung tightly in his wand holster — a habit even Regulus had picked up during the war.

'Beauxbatons,' Regulus lied, sticking to the story he, Mer, Ariana and the ghosts had conjured up. 'After Slughorn returned, my mother thought it a good idea to go to my father's school. Of course the bugger was too paralysed to really make a reply, so I was sent to France,'

Regulus chuckled slightly, ignoring Remus' slightly startled expression.

'Don't worry, Remus… Can I call you that?' the professor nodded. Regulus continued. 'I lost my parents love the second I adopted Morgause from them — she was always the Black sheep of the family — always nutty. She's adopted you see,'

He waved slightly at Mer, who was flapping around like a monkey, ignoring the stares her fellow Ravenclaws were giving her. Mer smiled, and plonked back down, reaching forward for a bread roll, as a silvery haired girl with reddish earrings talked. Mer jabbered back.

'Your sister I presume,' Remus asked.

Regulus nodded.

'Yes, she lives with Glenys and I.'

'Glenys?' Remus asked. Regulus smiled, lifting up his left hand.

'My wife,' he answered. 'We married young. She's a miracle in disguise — can't cook to save her life but still… She's my miracle. I'd be dead without her.'

Ignoring Remus' curious look, Regulus turned back to his meal, sipping his mug of tea with a thin, but happy smile on his lips. Just as he set down the mug, leaning back in his chair, a single owl fluttered into the room. It was grey, the standard procedure for ministry owls. It squawked, letting loose a huge shriek before landing beside a very startled Hermione Granger.

She looked at it; the owl looked back.

Reaching up, the young girl took the letter that flapped around in the creature's claws, and quickly handed it a few galleons. Before she could thank it, the creature flew off, leaving just as quickly as it came. Heads turned towards Hermione, as her shaking fingers opened the seal.

An explosion of music erupted from the envelope, a collection honking horns and loud voices spun into the air, a bright light following behind it. Hermione squealed, dropping the letter as young couple blurred into existence. They walked along a street, and as they turned the corner, the shining Empire State Building rose out of the ground as the light of a nineteen-twenties New York sparkled. It was nighttime, and snow ran along the cobbled ground as taxi drivers and drunken muggles walked around the place.

The couple were young, maybe in their early twenties, and the woman had thick black hair that was curled not a loose bob. She wore a beautiful red flapper dress, a moleskin coat over that. The man beside her had sandy hair, and was lean, his strong arms holding the woman's arm as if afraid she's fall over. He wore a smart suit, and his shoes shone so brightly they could have blinded him.

 _'This is silly, Roy,'_ the woman breathed, her voice foreign and broken — Greek. _'Why would Mrs Graves invite us to a party? We barely know her!'_

 _'Oh Helen, it'll be fine,'_ the man responded, giving his wife a small squeeze. _'Besides, we know the Goldstein sisters — they're going to be there.'_

 _'I don't like it, Roy,'_ the woman said, as they passed a block of flats, cars driving in all directions. _'We're squibs, and the Goldstein sisters and the Graves aren't — they're wizardkind.'_

 _'Mrs Graves is a squib too,'_ Roy responded, as if this was the hundredth time he'd had the conversation with his wife. _'We'll be fine.'_

Helen fell silent, walking quickly beside her husband as the two walked up a flight of stairs and before falling to stop outside a black door. It number, — number five hundred and three — was made out of a golden plague, and a small door knocker, of a tiny man with large horns coming out of his head, waited patiently for someone to grab his face and smash his back against the door.

Just before Roy was about to grab the knocker, his wife held his hand.

 _'How old is Mrs Graves again?'_ she asked, frowning. Roy shrugged.

 _'I'd say…early or late twenties,'_ the man responded. Helen nodded.

 _'And what's her name? I always forget,'_ she said.

 _'Ariana,'_ Roy said, smiling at his wife. _'You'll be fine,'_

 _'Ariana… Ariana… Ariana…right,'_ Helen muttered. _'I think I got it,'_

Reaching forward, Helen grasped the knocker and slammed it once. She waited. Roy waited. They both waited.

 _'Maybe she didn't hear me,'_

Before Helen could knock on the door again, it swung open and the faint tinkle of jazz fell onto the street. The woman who greeted them was young, very young, with red hair that fell down her back in glittering strands. Her dress fell to her knees and was dyed a faint purple colour and her shoes, which were heeled, gave her an extra few inches of height. A wedding ring gleamed on her finger and as the Past Ariana looks up at the squibs, a warm smile graced her lips. To Regulus, she looked like a faery — an eighteen year old, immortal faery.

 _'Mr Granger!'_ Past Ariana breathed, addressing Helen's husband. _'Mrs Granger! I thought for a moment you wouldn't come. Or you'd got lost, it is rather tricky to find your way around here. Do come in — the Goldsteins' are here and from the looked of things, Queenie and Tina are just dying to meet you!'_

Past Ariana moved away from the door, allowing the couple inside. As the shrugged off their coats and hats, Helen stepped close to her husband, brushing by his ear.

 _'I knew Mrs Graves was young,'_ she breathed. _'But I didn't thin she'd look like a teenager.'_

 _'Maybe it's a muggle product.'_ Roy said, nodding at Past Ariana who was waiting for them at the end of the corridor. Helen hummed, pulling away from her husband.

 _'This way!'_ Past Ariana called, smiling brightly, waving to the couple. 'The sister's are in the drawing room.'

As the Grangers followed Past Ariana, she talked to them loudly, as if they couldn't hear her.

 _'Percival isn't here I'm afraid, he's off doing Auror things — and here they are.'_ She laughed, stepping into the drawing room. _'Queenie, what are you doing? And Tina you better not be showering over documents — this is your night off! You promised!'_

Roy and Helen were greeted to a warm room, and a large open fireplace. There was a sofa on the right hand side, and another on the left, over looking the street. Paintings surrounded the room, their moving eyes staring gloomy out of the walls as if following the room occupancy as if they had a nervous tick. A house-elf bobbed in and out of the drawing room, carrying a tray of alcohol. He followed Ariana around the room like a little dog, that when she came to stand beside a young woman with short hair, it almost crashed into his Mistress' leg.

The brown haired woman was wearing black dress lined with silver, and her bushy hair was flattened so it was smoothed on her head. She was quiet pretty, however, her looks over overshadowed by the big stack of papers in her hand and the quill that bobbed and down in her right.

' _Tina!'_ Past Ariana called to the young woman, rushing over to her with a thin expression. _'Come on Tina, let's have some fun! Dance!'_

 _'I'm a little busy Mrs Graves,'_ the young woman called, briefly looking up and smiling at Mr and Mrs Granger who had situated themselves on a sofa. _'I'm filling out reports for_ ** _your_** _husband.'_

 _'Oh reports! Pish-posh! Come on Porpentina! Pick up your feet!'_ Past Ariana called, laughing merrily, drink turning her head. _'Come have some fun, Tina! Your sister's enjoying herself!'_

Past Ariana indicated to a blonde haired Queenie Goldstein, her bright smile merry and bright. The younger sister's dress was pink and airy, her wispy clothing reflecting her more than dotty personality. Tina Goldstein looked up, and shot her sister a small glare. But before she could return to her work, Past Ariana had grabbed Tina's arm and was pulling her into the middle of the room, paper's flying everywhere.

 _'Ari's right, Tina!'_ Queenie laughed, her feet moving in time with the music as she stared at her sister furious face. _'Its fun! The music is simply to die for!'_

Helen, who had been holding back a laugh, doubled over, clutching her stomach, as her husband pulled her to her feet, joining the Goldstein sisters and Past Ariana in a fast dance of moving arms and feet.

Nobody, other than Past Ariana, noticed the front door open, as the sleek black hair of Percival Graves stumbled through the door. Removing herself form the party, Past Ariana headed over to her husband. She muttered something to him, helping the older man into the drawing room. Tina paused, shuddering under her boss' gaze, and quickly hurried over to her sofa, picking up papers as she went.

 _'Mr Graves,'_ Helen said, nodding _. 'Hello, it's lovely to see you again,'_

Mr Graves nodded, thin lipped.

 _'Yes,'_ he said. _'I suppose so. Ari, darling, can I talk with you for a moment,'_

He grabbed her before she could reply, dragging Past Ariana out of the room and into the kitchen. Helen paused, looking up at her husband.

 _'You don't think he's going to hit her, do you?'_ she asked, suddenly fearful. _'I never realised how much older Mr Graves is,'_

 _'He won't harm her,'_ a voice breathed and the two turned to see Queenie, a thin smile on her lips. _'He's just talking.'_

 _'How can you possibly know that?'_

 _'Queenie,'_ Tina warned, not looking up from her documents. _'Stop it,'_

 _'I didn't mean too,'_ she protested, smiling at her sister. _'It's just hard to concentrate when she's so afraid.'_

Queenie turned back smiling sweetly. She pressed a hand on Helen's arm.

 _'Don't worry honey, Mrs Graves can look after herself — she's a Dumbledore after all,'_

 _'How do you know that?'_ Roy asked. _'I thought Dumbledore didn't have any children,'_

Queenie shrugged.

 _'I don't know how she's related to him, I haven't looked that far in her mind, I just know she's related.'_

 _'You're a Legilimens.'_ Roy breathed, mouth open. Queenie smiled, nodding.

Just then the door opened again and Past Ariana pushed herself into the room, house-elf following behind her.

 _'Giggle-water anyone?'_ she asked. Mr Graves was behind her, his face suddenly calmer, gentler.

 _'Oh!'_ Helen said, stepping forward, relaxing. _'I will. I've never had it before.'_

The Goldstein sisters shared a small look as Helen took a sip of the tonic. She laughed, before pressing her hands to her lips. Past Ariana laughed. Helene laughed along with her.

 _'That was funny,'_ Past Ariana breathed, smiling brightly.

 _'Yes,'_ Helen said, still giggling, _'its rather good.'_

 _'Well,'_ Past Ariana said, winking at the Grangers. _'I'm was a Dumbledore for a reason, darling. Why can't making cocktails be on that list too!'_

They all laughed as Past Ariana leant against Percival Graves, or as he wold be later known as, Gellert Grindelwald.

As the scene disappeared in the air, Hermione rose form her feet, sobbing silently, as she picked up another letter that was hidden in the envelope. Her eyes danced across the page, and with another tearful sob, Hermione Granger, granddaughter of Roy and Helen ran from the room.

Nobody noticed her cat following after her, its red speckled tail quivering as fear melted into her bones.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **Well, I hope you all had a wonderful Halloween, and if you celebrated Samhain, I hope you had a beautiful celebration, (and if you see it as I do) a fantastic New Year. I spent it eating a huge bowl of seafood pasta, and laughing with my bestemor and mamma. We're in Spain right now, comparing the heat and bizarre knowledge that all the restraints, (not that we go to many), have different translations for each menu. I have heard, Norsk, Danish, Swedish, Russian, German English and a few other languages, (including Spanish and Italian) over the past few days and it's starting to do my head in. AHAHAH!**

 **I also accidentally got a strand of my hair braided by a lovely woman named Fatima. I walked right into that one didn't I… I'm a stupid idiot. I remember as a child having one strand of hair braided with thread and beads to be quiet popular, but now not so much. Does anyone remember that? What else?**

 **I went to a Zoo, which I had mixed feelings about, because if anyone has seen the documentary about Dolphins being captured off the coast of Japan, and then drowning themselves because they become depressed from doing tricks and such, (I think it's called the Cave), you know that seeing Dolphins playing tricks means that you cannot enjoy the show as much as you would like. The tigers were beautiful, and I got completely drenched by Orcas. They were gorgeous too. Oh and we lost my bestemor, and I spent forty minuets searching for her. She lost her hat.**

 **Also, I got sunburnt. I know — tragic! The worst part is, I put suncream on. The I cut my finger open with a knife and glass. Uhhhh, no! So I apologise for all the spelling or grammar mistakes, if there are any. Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter. Who would have thought that's how Mr and Mrs Roy Granger died? (I didn't but it happened anyway). paulaa90, here are your muggles, even though they are squibs, they are still part of Hermione's family.**

 **Oh, by the way, I created a poll, it's called: A Black and a Dumbledore - What should happen next? If I can, I'll try to update or make new ones, after every upload, just so I can give you something new to look at. I've never done this before, so please bare with me if I get it wrong.**

 **Also, because I'm a complete IDIOT since I didn't notice this until I was uploading this chapter, I would like to thank Yip who created the Community, Healer Pomfrey Has Her Hands Full, for putting my story up on her community. It's amazing, I never thought that would happen, so Yip, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Takk!**

 **And just you lot know, the ghost will come back, I just though that they didn't need to be in every single scene this time. I hope that's okay.**

 **From**

 **Lily**

 **P. S. Whenever any of you review, please put "YES" at the beginning so I know you actually read the Author's Note. I'm just curious.**

 **P. S. S. Here are your options for the poll:**

 **Mer "Morgause Noir" and Sirius Black**

 **Mer "Morgause Noir" and Sirius Black (One-sided only - Mer)**

 **Mer "Morgause Noir" and Sirius Black (One-sided only - Sirius)**

 **Mer "Morgause Noir" and Fred**

 **Mer "Morgause Noir" and Fred (One-sided only - Mer)**

 **Mer "Morgause Noir" and Fred (One-sided only - Fred)**

 **Dorcas Meadowes and Severus Snape**

 **Dorcas Meadowes and Severus Snape (One-sided only - Dorcas)**

 **Dorcas Meadowes and Severus Snape (One-sided only - Severus)**

 **Dorcas Meadowes and Sirius Black**

 **Dorcas Meadowes and Sirius Black (One-sided only - Dorcas)**

 **Dorcas Meadowes and Sirius Black (One-sided only - Sirius)**

 **Caradoc Dearborn and Dorcas Meadowes**

 **Caradoc Dearborn and Dorcas Meadowes (One-sided only - Caradoc)**

 **Caradoc Dearborn and Dorcas Meadowes (One-sided only - Dorcas)**

 **Regulus Black and Ariana Dumbledore**

 **Young Ariana Dumbledore and Young Gellert Grindelwald**

 **Young Ariana Dumbledore and Young Gellert Grindelwald (One-sided only - Ariana)**

 **Young Albus Dumbledore and Young Gellert Grindelwald**

 **Young Albus Dumbledore and Young Gellert Grindelwald (One-sided only - Albus)**


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